In The End
by Acepilot6
Summary: Complete repost without lyrics. Love can't be stopped. You might just have to go the long way around. A PKT angst love triangle. Enjoy and review! Please!
1. Love Your Way

**IN THE END**  
Acepilot

Acknowledgements -

- To my fellow unfortunates at Deakin, thank you for keeping me sane.

- CountryLink NSW, for keeping your trains late and letting me get work done.

- All those who contributed to my record collection which has influenced this fic no end.

- Everyone at the AGU Boards and who read and reviewed my fics, wrote their own that I enjoyed and learnt from, and otherwise bantered with me in one way or another.

- And most of all, Chuckangie needs an acknowledgement of his own. This incredible artist himself has found time to beta many of the chapters of this fic and helped them form the shape they are now. It wouldn't have been possible without him. Let there be praise.

**Love Your Way**  
Acepilot

AN - This is the first book in a series of three that collectively make up "In The End". It's not really an epic, just complicated. This fic is quite dark (though that's mostly all in Chapter 2), but it gets better in later chapters, I promise. It pretty much all ends happily, even if it seems like it won't. I hope you enjoy this fic, I've put a lot of work into it.

Disclaimer - The characters of AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo. The song "Love Your Way" is written by Powderfinger (all hail).

---

"We all experience within us what the Portugese call 'saudade', which translates as an inexplicable longing, an unnamed and enigmatic yearning of the soul."  
Nick Cave.

---  
Lil  
---

I push open the door to the apartment, gazing around it levelly. It's pretty much as I expected. The music playing on the stereo system is miserable, there's an old black-and-white movie left unkept on the TV, and the smell of alcohol and smoke is heavy on the air.

I find him, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen, gazing longingly out a window. At the night sky above, at the outside world. The smell of alcohol is stronger the closer I get to him, and the cigarette in his hand is evidently not the first he's smoked tonight, judging by the pile in the makeshift-ashtray on the bench.

"Next time you plan on getting wasted, give me a call, will you?" I ask.

He chuckles half-heartedly and has another puff. "Think you can stop me, or do you just want to join in?"

I slump down in the nearest dining-room chair and drop my handbag on the floor. "Bit of both, really." I forgo the whiskey offered, favouring the wine bottle. There's a glass set up for me already. Unsurprising that he can read my mind. We're twins after all. "So I guess you're not taking it well."

He shrugs. "Nup. Don't tell me you're surprised."

I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I'm pretty much the same, truth be told."

"You hide it well," he observes, pouring himself another drink.

"I hide it better," I disagree, sipping the red cautiously. "I thought you gave up smoking," I point out.

"I took it back up," he tells me. "I only gave it up because she didn't like it."

"Ah," I mutter. There doesn't really seem to be anything else to say.

"What's your favourite thing about him?" he asks. When I throw him a concerned look, he shrugs. "Humor me."

I lean back in my seat, holding my wine glass contemplatively. "His eyes. They're deep. He doesn't see things like everyone else. He sees everything from an artist's point of view. And it always feels like he sees through everything. To the truth of every thing that goes on around him."

He laughs bitterly. "He saw some truths. Just not all of them." He takes a deep breath and sips a bit more at his whiskey. "I love her hair. She never wears it down when she's out. She never wears it down around people in general. But she has it down around the house. It's longer than it seems. And it falls down around her shoulders like some kind of black curtain, and I just want to toy with it and run my fingers through it and stroke it until we fall asleep in each others arms."

Normally this conversation would have been awkward. But we've shared more intimate secrets than this. For all our fights, for all our differences, for all the difficulties we have with each other - we're brother and sister. It's not even that we're twins. But if there's one person who I can trust, who I can count on, who I can turn to unconditionally, it's him. Even when he's mad at me he wouldn't reveal my secrets. Even when he's driving me up the wall, I can't turn him away when he needs a shoulder to cry on.

Or a buddy to drink with.

"Do you think we'll ever get over them?" I ask.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and leans back to look at the ceiling. "I kind of hope not."

I know what he means.

"I never want to stop loving him, either," I agree.

When I leave, at some ungodly hour of the morning, they're still not back, and it makes me wonder if they're spending the night at his place. I shudder at the thought, but know that I have no-one to blame but myself. A classic case of leaving things too late.

I'm suddenly tempted to go back into the apartment and drink myself under the table, as Phil is almost certainly doing, but I resist. I'd only regret it. And if there's one thing my life doesn't need, it's more regret.

---  
Kimmi  
---

"So, how's it going with Tommy?"

I arch my eyebrow at my brother across the table. "You've been itching to ask that, haven't you?"

"For about twenty minutes now," he concedes. "So, come on, spill."

I shrug. "It's going great. We went out again last night, to that little French place on Jackson Street."

"Ah. Yeah, I went there once. Real posh. Very expensive."

I nod. "I know, I know. I kept wanting to tell him that we could go somewhere else, but he wouldn't have a bar of it. He really wanted to take me there."

"This is getting pretty serious then?" he asks, shaking some of his shaggy red hair out of his eyes as he sips at his coffee. "Should we be expecting Mom to break out the wedding book?"

"No!" I realize belatedly that that was a bit loud and slide a little lower in my seat.  
"No. We're not that serious, thank you. We're good friends who are crossing the line into something more, and we've only just started on that path. So let's not be getting ahead of ourselves or anything."

It's his turn to raise a brow. "Come on, Kim. We've all known about this all for years. It's not like you two have made any great effort to hide your affection for each other."

"Yes, but having a mutual crush and actually forming a relationship are two completely different things." I gaze at him over the rim of my cup. "Anyway, everyone knows you and Angelica have a thing for each other but I don't see you two -"

"This isn't about me," he cuts me off. Any humor from our recent discussion left his eyes the same moment I mentioned Angelica. I'm dying to know what's happening there, but I'll find out soon enough, I guess.

"Okay, it's not," I recede from the topic. "Anyway, I don't think Tommy's going to want to rush into anything, either. We're still young."

"I know," Chuckie says. "Just don't leave it too long. You never know what's going to happen."

I smile softly. "Since when did you become so philosophical?"

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

I wouldn't count on it, but I can't be bothered arguing the point. I rise from the table and pull my coat on. "I've gotta go. Thanks for the lunch, though."

"No problem." He grins at me. "You sure Tommy won't be paying for it?"

"Goodbye," I reiterate as I walk out the door.

---

---  
Phil  
---

"She didn't come home last night."

"Ah. And how did you feel about this?"

"How do you think?"

"I'll take that as a 'not so great'."

"That'd be a good idea."

"Phil, I think I've got to be honest about this. This interest you have in Kimmi...it's getting to the point that I'd consider it unhealthy."

"It's not unhealthy. It's just...I don't know. Maybe it is unhealthy. Maybe I just won't admit it to myself."

"Maybe. Phil, I understand that you love this girl. But...I think that maybe, you've lost control of this situation. I understand that you're not entirely happy with this - and I don't blame you - but I don't think there's anything else you can do here. I think you've got to stand aside here. But understand this - I don't think you should give up. Just because Tommy and Kimmi are together now doesn't mean they will remain so forever. You've missed your chance now, but that doesn't mean you won't ever have another one."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I'm going to make you an appointment later today for a friend of mine, Dr. Thanas, maybe you've heard of him?"

"Yeah, a few of my friends go to him."

"I'm going to get you to talk to him, and I'm going to recommend that, if he agrees with me, you look into getting onto anti-depressants. Will that be okay?"

"Uh...thanks, but no. I think I'll just sit this one out."

"Look, Phil, it's possible you have clinical depression here -"

"No, I'm just depressed. Thanks for your time, Doc, but my hour's about up and I don't have the money to go overtime today."

"You know that's not a problem."

"No, it's alright. I've got to go, anyway."

"Think about what I said, though, Phil."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask, I guess."

"Goodbye, Doc."

"See you next week, Phil."

---  
Kimmi  
---

I slide my key into the lock and push the door to the apartment open, and have to fight the temptation to stagger backwards. I step in and try not to breathe too deeply. The place is clean enough, I guess, but the smell of alcohol and smoke is heavy in the air. I notice several open windows, but this is going to need serious airing out. Not just a brief breeze.

"You didn't come home last night."

I finally look away from the windows to see Phil standing, arms crossed, in the doorway.

I resist the urge to flinch. "I stayed at Tommy's."

He nods slowly. "Cool. Are you staying for dinner tonight?"

I shrug. "What are you making?"

"Lasagne," he tells me.

"With the tough crusty bits?" I ask, grinning broadly.

He nods and smiles at me, and I realise that it's been an age since I've seen that expression on his face. "Yep."

"I'm in," I tell him. "I'm just going to have a shower."

He nods slowly. "No rush. Won't be ready for an hour or so." He narrows his eyes. "So that should give you just enough time to check your make up. If you really are going to have a shower, I'll have to keep a plate warm."

I pick up a cushion off the sofa and fling it at him. "Watch it, mister."

He grins darkly at me. "You know you can't resist me."

"Let's just not put that to the test, shall we?" I call to him as I stroll through to the bathroom.

"Aw...why not?" he whines, following me to the door.

I peck him on the cheek as I pull my hair out of its ponytail. "Because if I could resist you, you'd be shattered."

"No fear!" he exclaims, holding his arms out in front of him in some hilarious karate move surely designed to incapacitate your opponents by making them laugh to the point of unconsciousness. "Phillip knows he is as amazing as he thinks he is."

"Just keep telling yourself that," I suggest, closing the door.

"Phillip has that effect on all the girls..."

---  
Lil  
---

Dear - ...

I don't think she went home last night, which means she was probably at his place the whole time.

Should I be happy for my two best friends? Wait a minute, don't answer that. It's such a stupid question, I can't believe I asked it. Of course I should be. I should be ridiculously happy for them. They've found happiness. I should be happy for them. I should be pleased to see them enjoying their lives.

I certainly shouldn't want to end their love.

Because he chose her. I mean, it wasn't like he had all the options available to him.  
But...well, what does it matter? It's all in the past now. Of course, it's still happening, so I guess it's kinda in the present as well, but...well, you know what I meant. As much as a piece of paper can know what anything means. I mean that he made his choice already, and giving him options now wouldn't change anything. And it shouldn't.

I think I'm dealing with it better than Phil is. In fact, I'm almost certain. I won't say that I'm not worried about him. When I went over there last night, I thought he'd gone past a line. He's...he's a mess. An utter, complete mess. He was drunk and smoking...and I did nothing to stop him.

Maybe it's because I know where he's coming from. I know why he's like this at the moment.

I sometimes wonder if he dreams of Kimmi? I dream of Tommy.

I had one dream last night - or this morning, I guess - where we were together. He proposed to me. It was incredibly romantic. A candlelit dinner in the park. We ate, and played, and made love, and he proposed. It was a perfect time. A perfect evening.

And then I awoke to this. Life, as usual.

Where do I go from here?

Lil.

---

reviews are appreciated.


	2. The Memory Gathers Dust

**Love Your Way - Chapter 2a**  
Acepilot

AN - Chapter 2 was originally written in one marathon session, but to make more narrative sense and to make this story easier to publish, I'm chopping it up into three sections. Just thought you might like to know. Thanks again to Chuckangie for the superb beta job on this chapter.

Disclaimer - The characters are by KlaskyCsupo, and the lyrics are by Powderfinger.

---  
Tommy  
---

I line my cue up with the white ball and glance across the table, feigning disinterest in Phil's movements. "Hey, Phil, can I ask you a question?"

He nods, taking a sip of his bourbon and coke. "Shoot."

I send the white ball skidding into the ten and grin as it sails into the pocket. "I was thinking of asking Kimmi to marry me."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even take another sip of his drink. He just nods, and pulls a cigarette out of the pack on the bench behind him. "Yeah?" he finally vocalizes. "Cool."

"Look, I just thought I should check with you first," I tell him, honestly. "I know you have this whole history thing with her and everything, so I don't want to do anything that might ruin our friendship or something - "

"Tommy, what happens between you and Kimmi is none of my concern," he...I don't want to describe it as speaking. He almost spits it out, as if each word is some kind of venomous insect that accidentally flew into his mouth. "You don't need to check with me about anything concerning her."

I don't buy it for a second. "Look, Phil, I know - "

"Tommy, what happens between you and Kimmi is none of my concern," he repeats, even more disgustedly this time, "so don't worry about asking me. I'm glad she found someone who treats her as well as you do and loves her as much as you must. So propose to her. She loves you, you love her. Don't wait."

He doesn't meet my eyes once through the whole speech. "You're not happy with this. So I won't."

"Tommy, if you don't stop worrying about what I think of this whole situation, then I'm going to ram this pool cue somewhere highly unpleasant for both of us," he mutters. "Yes, I had feelings for Kimmi. But that shouldn't matter here."

"Seriously?" I ask, watching him closely over the table. I almost can't believe I'm hearing this. "You're seriously okay with this?"

He meets my eyes at last. But he's standing in shadow and I can't really see what kind of expression he has on his face. "Just ask the girl and make her happy, Tommy."

I nod slowly. I want to believe him. But something tells me that this is all going to end in disaster.

---  
Kimmi  
---

"Are you sure you don't mind eating in tonight? We can go somewhere if you want?"

"No, Tommy, for the last time. It's touching that you've cooked me a meal. It means a lot. A real lot. And it doesn't taste bad, so stop worrying."

He wipes a few invisible beads of sweat off his brow and smiles at me nervously. "Good. I just want tonight to be kind of...well, perfect."

I grin at him. "You're one of a kind, Tommy Pickles."

"I should hope so," he tells me, and the tension that was beginning to settle dangerously over the table finally dissipated.  
We share a brief chuckle and I feel more free than I have since I sat down.

I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's not like I've never had dinner with him before. I mean, I've had dinner with him...more often than not, these days, I guess. So why does tonight feel so different? As if something's going to happen.

"Can I get you some more wine?" Tommy asks, reaching for the bottle.

I finally snap. "What, are you trying to get me drunk?" I ask, disbelievingly, and maybe a little aggressively. He sets down the bottle and flashes me yet another nervous grin. I take a deep breath. "Sorry, Tommy. You're just so on edge tonight, I don't know what's going on."

He nods. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. But there's a reason for it," he assures me.

I smile and nod. "Sure thing, dear. It's not just because you're a clutz by nature."

He glares at me, but only mockingly.

I kind of wonder how we got to this point. I mean, I know, he asked me out, and we went out. And we had a good time, so we went out again, and again, and again. And now we're here. But, I've got to admit, I never thought it would work. It was always just a crush. A schoolgirl crush. And I don't think I ever noticed it become anything else. But I guess it must have.

You would have thought the experience with Phil would have taught me to never go out with a good friend again. But hey, Phil and I patched it up. We're friends. We're roommates. So maybe relationships don't destroy friendships. In the case of Tommy and me, it couldn't be further from the truth. We're better friends now than we ever were before we started going out.

Later that night, curled up in the afterglow, I smile as he wraps an arm around me. "I thought you guys needed longer to recover."

I can feel rather than see him grin against the back of my neck. "With you? Never." He kisses my shoulder and I giggle. "As insatiable as I am, I'm afraid I had something less fun in mind."

"Oh?" I ask. "What could that be?"

"Well, it's kind of fitting that you're naked when I do it, actually..."

---  
Chuckie  
---

I hear the phone ringing through the vague haze of sleep.

I try to convince my arms it's not worth the bother to answer it, but they don't seem to be able to listen, and instinct takes over. I kind of grope for the handset on the bedside table, finally managing to get enough feeling down to my fingers to pick the damn thing up. I force myself to come fully awake and immediately regret it - my tongue feels fuzzy, my mouth tastes like something died in it. My body feels like it just plain died.

"Yeah?" I mutter into the phone. If I use less syllables I conserve energy, for sure.

"Chuckie?" The puzzled voice on the other end of the line asks.

I sigh and roll over to lay on my back again. "Hey Kimmi. Do you know what time it is?"

"Four thirty in the morning," she tells me. "I know, I've been up all night. Anyway, I have great news."

I squint at the fuzzy ceiling. "What's that?"

"Tommy proposed to me!" she squeals over the line, and I cringe slightly. "Isn't that great!"

"Yeah," I agree.

"Well don't sound so enthusiastic or anything," she suggests.  
I sigh. "Sorry, Kim. It's just that, like most sane people, I was asleep at four thirty in the morning. So my enthusiasm for living is not at it's highest level. But seriously, Kim. Congratulations. It's not too fast?"

She almost giggles. God, almighty. "No! I mean, I thought it might have been, but nope! When he said it, I just said yes, and everything felt fine."

"I'm sincerely hoping you haven't told anyone else at this hour of the day," I tell her.

"Just Phil," she tells me. "My number was the only one I could think of."

"What'd he say?"

"Pretty much just 'Congratulations'. I think he was already awake. He seemed happy for me. Tommy already told him he was planning to propose, I think."

I fall silent for a second. This doesn't seem right at all. Phil? Fine with it? Happy for her? Is he really that good an actor or is she just euphoric.

I shake myself out of a self-induced stupor. "Well, that's really good, Kim. I'm glad for you. Now do you mind if I...maybe...go back to sleep?"

She chuckles. "Go for it," she permits. "Good morning, brother dear."

I roll my eyes. "Yep. See ya later, Kim."

I raise myself slightly to hang up the phone then slump back down into bed. As if the force of my landing dislodged her, the body next to mine rises slowly. "Your sister, at this hour of the morning?"

"Tommy proposed," I tell her, but I don't look. I never look.

"He's got more spine than I thought he did," she says. I can practically see her smirking smugly. "I assume she's happy?"

I shake my head slowly. "Shut up, Angelica."

I don't have to look at her face to know her expression. "Well, aren't we Mr. Cranky this morn - "

"Shut up and get out," I order her quietly. "Stop trying to be normal."

"Well, gee, thanks."

"You know what I meant," I tell her. "Stop trying to make pillow talk or whatever the hell this is. It doesn't work. We aren't a couple, Angelica? Remember? I think that was your idea?"

"No more than it was yours," she hisses, the humor from her voice long gone.

"Get out of my bed, get your clothes, and get out of my apartment," I tell her, rolling over to face the wall.

She runs her toes up the back of my calf, a finger along my side. "Do you really want that?" She asks, laying it on thick, whispering in my ear in the most sultry, slutty voice I can imagine and she can manage.

For a moment, I think about what would happen if I roll over, and screw her again - or does she screw me? I'm not really sure. It'd be great. It'd be earth-shattering. But it'd be the same again when I woke up later. The same as it is every morning I wake up with her beside me. This isn't some kind of warm, loving bed. That stuff's for dreams.

"Get out," I repeat.

And she does.

---


	3. Mutiny In Heaven

**Love Your Way - Chapter 2b**  
Acepilot

AN - This is the second part of Chapter 2. This part of the fic is where it hits it's darkest and most disturbing, and it contains some pretty strong adult themes. If you're on then this is rated right, but on Luke's AGU board and can't handle the edited out swearing (proboards does that, so I discovered when I betad over it) or adult themes, then I urge you to wait until Chapter 2c comes out and let it fill in the blanks.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of Klasky-Csupo. The song found in this chapter was written by Nick Cave and Mick Harvey.

Lil

I push open the door to the apartment, gazing around it levelly.

Most of the lights are out, the muted TV is providing a damp glow to the air. Smoke and alcohol hang heavy and I have to struggle to breathe. It's been bad before, but never like this.

He's at the piano, left hand distractedly hammering chords while the right hand dances delicately across the treble keys. He screaming lyrics, nonsensical if I didn't know the song from his obsession with it when we lived together. On one end of the upright is a glass of scotch, with the near-empty bottle at his feet. At the other end is an ashtray overflowing with butts and half-smoked home-mades. One is quietly burning away while he thumps out rhythms and notes disassociated of each other.

**_If this is heaven Ah'm bailin out...  
If this is heaven Ah'm bailin out..._**

"Phil?" I ask, stepping closer.

He kind of nods but doesn't turn to face me as he pounds the black and white keys mercilessly twice more before finally letting the tortured instrument fall silent. He spins extravagantly to face me. His hair is getting longer than I've ever seen it, and his eyes are slightly glassy. He's pale as a ghost. "Want a drink?"

I shake my head. "No thanks." I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry I haven't been over much the last few weeks. I've just...I've had a lot to deal with."

He nods and turns back to the keyboard to pick up yet another nightmarish tune. "I'll bet. Who'da thunk it, huh? Tommy and Kimmi, getting married. Isn't it wonderful?"

I sigh. "Look, Phil, trust me, I know what you're going through -"

"Fuck that!" He all but screams, his hands both landing on the one end of the piano and delivering a horrible, unmusical chord. "You've got no fucking idea what I'm going through!" He rises from the piano bench and pits me with a horrifying glare.

I match it. "Oh, don't I? You think you're the only one with feelings? The only one with emotions!"

"Your feelings toward Tommy have nothing in common with my feelings for Kimmi!" He yells. I've never really seen him so angry. His eyes are practically red, he seems so furious. "You've got a crush on a boy you've known forever? So what! I had her! I had her and I lost her and now I have to live with that! I love this girl, and she's marrying someone else! Fucking betrayal, that's what it is!"

**_Rats in paradise  
Rats in paradise_**

"What betrayal?" I yell, finally raising my voice to him. "What betrayal? You broke up! You never told Tommy to back off! You never tried to win her back! You weren't betrayed! When were you ever betrayed?"

"Just fuck off," he orders me, pointing to the door. "If you're not here to help, then fuck off."

I shake my head in disgust. "You think I want to be here, Phil? You think I like picking you up off the floor and dusting you down every time something happens between them? That I like being the strong one, the one of us who has to disregard their feelings?"

"You don't know anything about my feelings, so don't lecture me about being 'the strong one'. You have no idea how strong I've been so far." His voice is a shrill cry I've never heard before. He's all but on his knees in front of me, and I don't remember him getting there. "Get out!"

Something tells me I should stay. Something tells me that going now would be wrong, that this way only leads to disaster.

But the hurt in my body is just too overwhelming. So I drag my feet to the door, and force myself not to look back on my brother, laying in a desperate heap on the floor. I force myself not to look back. Not to take on problems that aren't my own, that are beyond my control.

Phil

**_Oh lord, Ah git down on mah knees  
(Ah git down on my knees and start to pray!)  
Wrapt in mah mongrel wings, Ah nearly freeze  
In the howlin' wind and drivin rain  
(All the trash blowin round 'n' round)  
From slum-heaven into town_**

I take a deep breath. Music is thumping on the stereo, and I watch with some kind of vague disinterest as the characters on the TV move around their daily lives. I let myself think that they're singing the songs, not the guy on the record that turns slowly on my player. The man in the black-and-white movie is talking about rats crawling across his soul, to the charming young lady who continually rebuffs his advances.

Suddenly another man's on the scene, declaring that mutiny has begun. The red train is pulling away from the station and whining like some kind of destructive guitar. I smile as the luckless love-struck loser frowns, his plan yet again thwarted as the one who captured his heart wanders away for another man, her red lips glistening.

Her lips never glistened.

I stare at the red ceiling and wonder at what my life might have been like.

Her lips were always beautiful. Never dry. Soft, like petals, to the touch.

I turn back to the TV as one of the characters screams of punishment, of reward, while facing down the victims of his rival's crimes. The victims of the man she chose ahead of him. He's evil. He might not think so, but he's evil.

Tommy isn't evil. Tommy didn't do anything wrong. Tommy didn't betray me. He fell in love. And who can blame him? I mean, if I can, why can't he?

The man on the movie and watch the man chase his friend through sewers that run bloodred. Gun shots are exchanged, but oddly they make no sound. As they face off, fingers reach through the grate in some final cry for help.

And as he shoots his friend once more, everything goes red, his wings folding out around him. Made of crutches and pinions.  
The TV screen goes bright, vibrant scarlet, and I look down at my wrists, and wonder how that happened. The knife falls from my grip and I smile weakly, falling backward onto the reddening floor and lacking the energy to laugh.

**_Ah take my tiny pain and rollin back mah sleeve  
(Roll anna roll anna roll anna roll)  
Ah yank the drip outa mah vein! UTOPIATE! Ah'm bailin out!  
UTOPIATE!  
If this is heaven Ah'm bailin' out  
Mah threadbare soul teems with vermin and louse  
Thought comes like a plague to the head...in God's house  
Mutiny in Heaven_**

sorry about the coarse language. it just kind of wrote itself that way. please review.


	4. Beggar

**Love Your Way - Chapter 2c**  
Acepilot

AN - Right. Well, this is the beginning of the end of Love Your Way, pretty much. I hope you've all found Chapter 2 to be an experience. I sincerely apologize anyone offended by the Mutiny In Heaven scene in the previous chapter.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo. The song Love Your Way is by Powderfinger.

The Doctor

I sigh with dread and look over at the young woman standing opposite me, watching the man in the hospital room breathing deeply, still unconscious. She's too young for this. He's far too young for this. It's all just wrong. I guess you can never be old enough. "I understand this is difficult, Kimmi -"

"It's fine. I just...need a minute."

"Take all the time you need."

"Okay. Okay."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. I mean, I guess so."

"Okay. Can you tell me what happened on the night of the 25th of July?"

"I...I don't remember much. Just the colour. And the revulsion."

"Just tell me what you can remember."

"I got home at about nine p.m. I'd been out with my fiancée all day...and much of the day before. I hadn't been home, now that I think about it. Anyway, I got home, and went in. It was silent. Like, eerily silent. It's never silent. Phil's always playing records, or the piano, or something. It was silent. The TV was on mute, I remember. I found him in the lounge room."

"You found Mr. DeVille in the lounge room, with the muted TV?"

"Yes. That's where he was. He was lying on the floor. Sort of...doubled-over. Like, he was laying on his legs, folded under him?"

"Yes, I think I know what you mean."

"The knife was next to him. Like he'd just dropped it, really. And he was watching the ceiling and...smiling. And Mutiny was on the record player, I remember that. And...everything was so...red..."

I breathe deeply. This isn't the first time I've heard a description akin to this, and I know with a horrible feeling in my guts that it won't be the last.

"It was spread across the floor. His wrists were facing up and so it all kind of dribbled over his arms...he was covered in it...god, he was covered in blood! His blood!"

I nod slowly, reaching out and touching her shoulder. "Do you need a break?" I ask, aware that she's coming close to collapsing.

"No!" she cries. "If I stop now I'll never start again."

I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with the idea, but I nod slowly. "Okay. If you're sure."

She takes a shuddering breath and continues. "So I kind of just grabbed him by the wrists and kept pressure applied to the wounds. He was still bleeding, which I took as a good sign. But...there was so much, I couldn't stop it all...and I didn't want to move him...so I rushed to the linen closest and grabbed some teatowels and wrapped them around his wrists. He was starting to come to, and I wasn't sure what to do. He was still bleeding, no matter how tight I tied the knots. So I called an ambulance. God, it took me that long to call an ambulance."

I pat her on the shoulder. "It's okay. You did the right thing," I tell her. "You kept pressure on the wounds, you got help. You did the right thing." I exhale slowly, glad that the hard part is over. "Is there anyone you need to call? Any members of his family, or friends, that need to know?"

She nods slowly, but never tears her eyes away from the sheet-white man laying in the hospital bed on the other side of the window. "His sister, his parents. Uh...our friends, I guess, but...I don't know...if he'll want to -"

"That's fair enough," I tell her. "But...do call his family. There's a phone over there. Or if you like, I can do it - "

"No, I think I should," she admits. "I think it would be better coming from someone they know."

I nod along with her. "That's reasonable."

She walks away slowly, her head bowed. I gaze in at the young man one more time, and then turn away.

I'll never get used to this.

Kimmi

He's barely spoken a word since I brought him home.

Betty and Howard wanted to take him back to their place, but he did open his mouth enough to nix that idea. He wasn't keen on it at all.

That hasn't stopped them from visiting. Or an extremely tearful Lil, who was all but screaming for remorse. Or a slightly disjointed Chuckie, who didn't really say anything, just sat there with him for a while and discussed the most menial topics that came to mind. Or a confused Tommy who tried to talk but everything seemed to fail him.

He would speak to them all. But not more than he had to. And he barely speaks to me at all.

One time when I was evidently being overly intrusive, he screamed at me. The most noise I've heard him make since...that night. He screamed, "I can take care of myself!", and stormed off.

Maybe I was babying him a bit. But I can't get the sight of him, laying on the floor - the same floor that my feet rest on now - with blood dripping down his arms, and smiling at the ceiling.

And he won't talk about it. Not at all.

I mean, I know, I should respect that. He doesn't want to talk about what happened, then that's fine. But that just makes me more concerned. Why won't he talk about it? Is it something he doesn't want to tell me, specifically, or does he just not want to talk about the whole incident?

I finally cross the threshold into the kitchen. He's standing at the sink, his hands inches away from the frothy water. I'm still nervous about trusting him around knives, but so far everything seems to be okay. Other than the not talking.

He doesn't lower his hands into the sink, however, and I notice that he's staring at the bandages on his wrists.

He's been getting some color back lately. He's been eating right. He still doesn't like going out, and I haven't been pushing him too much. That's the next phase.

"Hey," I say, stepping up next to him, leaning on the bench,.

He nods, but doesn't look away from his wrists. "Hey."

"Are you feeling okay?" I ask, and immediately kick myself at the stupidity of the question. Odds are he's not.

"I'm fine," he tells me, coldly.

"Have you taken your medication?" I ask, and brace myself for the inevitable anger.

But it doesn't come. He just mutters, "God no. Foul shit."

I nod slowly. "You know, you - "

"Should, yeah, I know. It's meant to help me." He turns and finally looks me in the eyes. "It doesn't. So just let me go without for the moment, please."

I back off. "Okay." I'm about to leave him to the dishes when I notice something.

I push past him, over to the other side of the bench, where I pick up an open bottle. "Have you been drinking!"

He huffs. "What do you care?"

I put the bottle down with so much force that scotch spurts out the top. "What do you mean, 'What do I care'!" I sneer at him. "I've just been sitting around the house, worrying sick about you for weeks - "

"Well, you shouldn't have been. I can take care of myself," he tells me.

I grow more and more frustrated. "Evidently, you can't, Phil. Because if you could, then those wouldn't be there."

I don't have to motion to his bandages for either of us to know what I'm talking about. "You know nothing about my life," he hisses. I've never realized how tall he'd gotten until now. But I'm suddenly horrifically aware that he's towering over me, a fire in his eyes that I don't think I've ever seen before.

"Only because you won't talk to me," I tell him, flinching internally at the fact that I have to look up to meet him eye-to-eye. Surely Lil isn't this tall.

"And that's not going to change," he informs me, turning away and storming into the lounge.

"Well, who will you talk to, Phil?" I ask, hot on his heels. "Everyone is worried sick about you and you're not doing anything to alleviate the worry."

He spins around and shrieks, "It's not my fucking problem!" I'm forced to take a physical step back. "It's not my problem," he repeats in a quieter, now somewhat raspy tone of voice. He's probably damaged his vocal chords with that scream.

"But it doesn't have to be a problem at all," I tell him. "We all care about you. You just have to let us." I reach out to take his hands.

He jerks them away. "Don't do that. You don't care. Not really."

"Phil, you're my best friend. My room-mate. Of course I care," I insist.

He shakes his head at me. His voice is still a rasp. "You never cared before."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, forcing myself to keep from exploding at him. "What do you mean, I never cared before?" 

He pushes a finger into the centre of my chest. "You never cared when I was sliding away from sanity. You never cared when I started drinking, or smoking, or anything. Not once did you ask me if something was wrong, or if I needed - or wanted help."

"I assumed if you wanted help you'd ask," I said, realizing how lame that sounds. He's right. I saw the signs. I saw him sliding away from the world. I noticed the alcohol - the bottomless bottle of scotch in the cupboard. The smoking was impossible to miss. Some best friend.

"You never cared that I've been struggling to stay together for months now. It took me trying to commit suicide to get you to notice me, and I really wish you hadn't. I wish you'd just left me to die," he tells me. And the scariest thing is the dispassionate tone of his voice. Uncaring, and cold.

"I could never do that," I whisper to him, only because the energy to talk seems to have left me.

He pulls away slightly. "You never cared that I loved you. You never cared enough to let me try and make amends."

I take a deep, shuddering breath. This was what I was afraid of. That he would blame me. And that I wouldn't be able to find a way to defend myself. "That was a long time ago, Phil."

But he's right. I never let him explain. I never let him try to make things right. But six years have gone by. We've made things right. Surely he's gotten over me.

Surely.

"I loved you," he mutters. He looks ready to break down into tears. But he doesn't. He never does. The stubborn bastard. Never likes to let his emotions through. Not to me, anyway. That was why we broke up. That was why I couldn't be with him. That was why it all went wrong.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Phil," I offer lamely, realizing it's all I've got.

He's staring at his wrists again.

And I could swear I see a single tear escape his eye and roll down his cheek.

"I loved you," he repeats, stumbling vaguely and collapsing to his knees. I manage, barely to catch him, and he falls effortlessly into my arms as the floodgates open. I sink to the floor with him in my arms, as he cries into my shoulder, breathlessly whispering, "I loved you," through the tears.

I hold him, and comfort him. As best I can, anyway. But how do you comfort someone who is so hurt, so devastated, by your actions? By things you did?

Who loves you?

please review.


	5. The Cold Light of Day

**Love Your Way**  
Acepilot

AN - The chapter that almost never was. I hope you enjoy it, anyway. It kind of fills a gap. I guess this is almost the end of this fic. Well, I'd say it's been fun to write, but that would be a lie. It's been an experience.

Disclaimer - Y'know the drill. Characters are KlaskyCsupo's, the song is Powderfinger's.

Phil

I watch her move quietly, determinedly around the room, trying to fight off the tears that are starting to prick at my eyes. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I knew this was coming.

"So, you're leaving, then."

She nods, but doesn't look at me. "Yeah. I am."

I nod slowly. "Oh."

She pauses while picking up her blouse, and hangs her head. "Look, Phil, you and I both know this wouldn't work."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, with no real commitment. I can't believe I ever thought this might have meant she'd choose me. "So, basically, just a quick sympathy fuck and then you're off back to Tommy?"

She finally looks up at me as she pulls on her top. But it's not particularly pleasant. She's got fire in her eyes. Normally I love watching her get riled up. But today, it's different. This situation is different. "It wasn't like that."

"Bullshit." I meet her glare with one of my own. She isn't going to paint this any other way than what it was. "It was exactly like that. You knew exactly how I felt about you. You knew - "

"I wasn't thinking," she cuts me off. "I wasn't thinking clearly." She finally steps back over to me, and reaches out for my hand. For once, I just let her, not fighting, not resisting. She takes my hand in her own, and I watch intently. Her small, smooth hand runs over my fingers, pale and callused from years of abuse on instruments. She's perfect, and I'm scarred. "Phil, you know that we'd never worked out. We tried once, remember - "

"I remember," I cut her off. "I remember."

"Then you know, Phil. You know it would be a mistake."

I shake my head slowly, looking up into her eyes. "No." I squint through the gathering tears. "It wouldn't be a mistake. The only mistake that seems to have been made here is what happened last night. Unless, of course, it was just some sick and cruel form of torture."

She leans back. "Phil, I know -"

"You knew I loved you!" I yell. "You knew that I wanted to be with you. So what? You kiss me! You fucking kiss me! You take me to bed! You practically drag me to bed! And we share this incredible night of passion and beauty and then you tell me that you're going off to fucking marry Tommy?" I realize vaguely that I've risen from the bed and am now towering over her kneeling form, but somehow it all slips away. "You're the coldest, most horrible person I've ever met, Kimmi."

She rises and I can see tears in her eyes for the first time. Something tells me that I'm being harsh, but I can't seem to find a way to care. This isn't my fault. "I admit it was a mistake, Phil. But I can't go back and change it now. I'm sorry that last night happened, that I put you in this position. I never wanted to. I don't know what came over me. But...I made a commitment to Tommy."

"Yeah, you made a commitment," I spit. "What happened to that commitment last night? Is it something you can just turn on and off at will?"

"No!" she cries, and I can vaguely hear helplessness creeping into her voice.

But I don't care. "Then what the hell is it, Kimmi?"

She turns away from my glare, under the pretense of hunting around for her skirt. "Look, Phil - "

"No, Kimmi. Just no. I thought last night might have meant something," I tell her. "Do you have any idea how much I've dreamt of something like last night happening? Do you have any idea how many times I've wanted to be with you like that over the years? Last night was a dream come true for me," I admit, realizing that the anger and hatred that had fuelled me to this point was slowly creeping out as I began to think more and more clearly.

"Phil..." she seems to search for the words. "I...I can't do this with you."

"Why not?" I ask. "We broke up years ago, sure. But I can change. I want to change." I feel all the energy seep out of me and I fall to my knees in front of her. I have a horrifying sense of deja vu. "Kimmi, I want to change. I don't want to be like this any more," I tell her, indicating the bandages on my wrists. I grab her hand and make her touch them. I look up into her eyes for once, and see tears there that must be in my own. But I can't feel them. "I've never hated anyone like I hate you right now. But you're my only chance to change. You're all I have. You're my salvation."

She wipes the tears in her own eyes away before looking back down at me. At me, kneeling at her feet, naked and freezing and trembling, all the aggression and hatred I've ever known creeping away from me. And despite all the wrongs she's done me, I'm begging for her forgiveness. For her to take me back. For her to leave him, and hold me, and love me, and be with me.  
"I..."

I know what's coming. I know it. I don't know if she does, or not, but I cant tell what happens next. So I don't let it. I stand up, clutching her face in my hands, pressing my lips to hers in some desperate effort to put off the inevitable. I clutch her close, as if I'm never going to let go. Which, really, if I had a choice, I wouldn't.

But I don't have a choice.

I finally let her go, and the tears that were making her eyes misty before have fallen and are still pouring all over her face. Her beautiful face.

She grabs her skirt off the floor and runs.

Lil

I pull open my door to see just about the last person I expected at this hour of the morning.

"Kimmi?"

She nods. "Look, Lil...I just wanted to say sorry."

"What?" I ask, peering at her through sleep-deprived eyes.

"Just..." she struggles for words. "Sorry."

And then she's gone.

Shaken, I shut my door slowly.

"This is the final boarding call for flight 402 to London. All passengers for London please make their way to the Boarding lounge immediately."

please review. though this is the last chapter of this book, there'll be an epilogue. just to let you know how it all ends. or, kind of how the next book begins...


	6. Long Distance Phone Call

**Love Your Way - Epilogue**  
Acepilot

AN - And so here Book I ends. Book II will be coming soon. I hope you've gotten as much out of reading this fic as I have writing it. It hasn't always been easy, but it's been...interesting. Thank you. And I promise, the next one won't be so incessantly gloomy.

Disclaimer - the characters are KlaskyCsupo's, the song is Powderfinger's. I make no claim to either, nor do I get paid for using them. Or paid at all, for that matter.

---

ring

"Hello?"

"Hey. Chuckie?"

"Phil. Hey. I've been kind of expecting you to call."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry I haven't before now. I've been getting settled and all that."

"Yeah. So...I hate to ask...what happens now?"

"Well, I'm going to give living here a try for a while, I think. Maybe get a job. Or join a band. I always wanted to be a part of a band. This seems like a great place to do it."

"Phil, I meant what happens next with all of us."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's up to you guys. I'm still around, of course. But...well, I'm here now. So if you don't invite me to Christmases and stuff, I'll understand."

"Stop avoiding the question, Phil. You tore out of here like your ass was on fire."

"I wanted to get away from everything for a while. It just wasn't a healthy environment for me."

"This, of course, has nothing to do with Kimmi?"

"It has everything to do with Kimmi."

"I thought it might. Nothing I can say is going to convince you to come back, is it?"

"Nup."

"Well...I guess I can just ask that you keep in touch."

"Yeah. I will. Look, can you send some of my stuff over? I'll pick up the tab, and stuff, I just left some things. Clothes, the like. Stuff that I don't really need to buy if you can just pop them on a plane and send 'em over here."

"Yeah, I'll get on that. You know you hurt a lot of people, leaving like this."

"I know. But a lot of people hurt me, so I don't really seem to care."

"Phil - "

"Chuckie, just...I need to deal. And I need to deal away from there."

"So you're running away from your problem."

"No, I'm not. I'm getting out of an environment that led me to attempting suicide."

"Whatever, Phil. You think you're ever going to be rid of her? Just because you're across the Atlantic? Dream on. She's always going to be there. You've got to confront her sooner or later."

"Says who? Look, Chuckie, I've got to go."

"What do I do with the piano?"

"Uh...gee. I really don't know."

"I'd promise to hold on to it for you, but it sounds like you may not be coming back."

"Put it in storage for me."

"Are you coming back, Phil?"

"Goodbye, Chuckie."

"Goodbye, Phil."

click.

---

Ever since I started writing fanfiction, I've had a fascination with angst. This has been more-or-less my exploration of the genre like I have never allowed myself before. I think the vital thing about angst is that it's never just lost love or hatred or anything - it's all of those things. But angst is ultimately about love. Thus I call "Love Your Way" a love story, because that's what it is. It's about Phil's love for Kimmi. Because, after all, not all love stories are happy or even conclusive. Love comes in all shapes and forms. Obsession, romantic, erotic, platonic, yearning, needing, and countless more. Phil needs Kimmi, but Kimmi needs security.  
The sequel to "Love Your Way" is coming soon. Please review.


	7. The Dark Streets of London

**The Dark Streets of London - Chapter 1**  
Acepilot

AN - Thanks for the feedback I received on Love Your Way. It was great. This is the second book in the series, set two years later. I hope you all enjoy it. It's a little different from Love Your Way, evidently, but it'll explain some stuff that's vital for Book Three, which is the real biggy. Okay, I'm going to stop going on now and just get to the story.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo.

Two years later...

Phil

"This song was written by our guitarist, Phil," Tim tells the crowd.

I start riffing disinterestedly, my eyes not focussed on what I'm doing but instead on the crowd in front of us. When we play the bigger places, we get different crowds from gig to gig. But back here in London, we get a lot of the same. Night after night. They come, they scream, they applaud. They drink. They inject. You name it, they probably do it.

I do it too.

I listen to Tim screaming lyrics and my own amp throbbing to the beat that the drums are trying (but ultimately failing) to provide, but I'm not really hearing anything. There's a girl in the audience. Front row, jumping around screaming. Watching me intently. Flirting. She grins at me with a tight, cute smile and pushes the strap of her tank-top off on one side.

I'll take her home after the show, and I'll screw her. Or maybe we'll just do it against the wall in a back alley, I don't know or care. But I know that it'll be quick and meaningless and I probably won't even remember her name in the morning.

I let Chris take over the lead guitar while I grab a swig of my scotch. Tim glances back at me kind of concernedly, but I don't care. I let the harsh taste of the drink hit the back of my throat and revel in the slight ache before turning back to the audience and the girl in the front row.

In some ways I can't wait for the show to be over, but in other ways I'm dreading what I know I'm going to do at the end of it. But for some reason I always do it. I always have. For nearly two years now, I've done it. I've done it, and I don't really think I've cared.

And I wonder what happened to the part of me that did.

And I kind of know.

Because of one, simple event two years ago. Because of one little thing that happened. One thing that means everywhere I go, her image fills my mind.

Whenever I take one of these random girls home and screw them senseless, it's never them.

I end the song with a final screeching note and Tim takes a brief bow. I make some vague acknowledgement, but my eyes are fixated on her. Her and her black hair. Her black hair and her impossibly deep, hurtful eyes. Eyes that have always hurt me. A face that I'm so in love with I can forgive its wrongs.

"Your place, or mine?"

Kimmi

"Thomas Pickles, if you keep doing that, then I'm not going to cook."

I can see him flirting with the idea of teasing me behind his eyes, probably something in the nature of 'Well, that's no great loss' or a relieved sigh and persistence, but he wisely just grins at me and keeps quiet. "As you wish, Kitchen Mistress."

I hit him over the back of the head with a spatula. "Have we got a confirmed number for tonight?"

He nods. "Five plus us."

"Five?" I ask, puzzled, trying to count out guests in my head.

"Sure: Suzie, Dil, Chuckie, Angelica and Lil."

"What about - "

And I catch myself.

I've been doing that a lot.

It's two years since he left. Two years. And yet I still kind of expect him to be here. I still expect him to wander into our living room, to strike up one of his pointless, meaningless conversations. I expect to come home to find him playing his guitar over in the corner or messing around on the piano.

But he's not there.

And I keep telling myself that it's no-one's fault but his own.

I feel Tommy's arms embrace my waist from behind and I lean back into his warm embrace with a smile plastered on my face and not a care in the world. He has this way of making everything else...disappear. I grin and try to push myself closer to him. "Remind me why we agreed to host this shindig?"

He kisses my shoulder. "Because we have the biggest apartment."

"Chuckie's is bigger," I protest, but then he starts nibbling on my neck and I go all woozy.

"If you say so, dear."

I grab my spatula and hit him on the back of the hand, causing him to jump back. "No fair."

I turn around and stick my tongue out at him. "Turnabout's fair play," I remind him, and then lean in and give him a peck. Only, however, out of pity. That I am insistent upon.

He rolls his eyes and starts getting plates and bowls out to place the buffet on.

I shake my head and go back to my cooking.

Everything's perfect. Just perfect.

But he's not here.

Chuckie

I sigh in irritation. "I came out here for some fresh air."

"You're the only one allowed to need fresh air?" she asks, coming up to stand next to me, leaning against the railing. "I had no idea you were so unique."

"Shut up, Angelica," I suggest. "Why do you have to do this?"

"You certainly never ask me to stop," she points out, and I watch with some kind of detached disinterest as her hand creeps along the balcony siding toward mine.

"And if I did?" I ask.

"I would," she tells me.

But there's such an air of certainty to her voice. Like she knows that would never happen. Like she knows that she has me wrapped around her little finger. Because she knows that I need her. She's like some kind of horrific drug that I have to get a fix of. And we both know it. The only consolation is that she seems to view me in much the same way.

"Then stop," I tell her.

Her hand pauses on the railing. "What?"

"Stop, Angelica," I order, backing away from her slightly. I raise my head to look straight at her. "I don't want this anymore. I don't want the meaningless sex. I don't want the disappearances into the night. It's been going on for two years and it's been two years too many. I'm twenty-six years old, Angelica. I'm a college graduate. I want a life. I'm too old for this shit. You're too old to be this indecisive." I glare at her. "You either want me or you don't," I tell her. "And it's time you made the choice."

"Are you saying that you can resist me?" She asks.

She's taking it as a challenge. Of course she is. She would. She always would. She takes everything as a challenge.

"I'm telling you that until you're ready for a real, genuine relationship, then stay away from me. Stay far, far away."

"If I kissed you right now, we'd have sex tonight," she tells me. But the certainty in her voice is starting to waver.

"Leave me alone, Angelica. Until you know what you want. Leave me alone."

I start to walk away, but she grabs me by my arm and spins me back around. "Hold on. You can't just leave. You can't just - "

"I can do anything I want, Angelica. We're not in a relationship. Remember? We're just in a very open friendship. If you can date other guys and disappear from my bedroom in the small hours of the morning, then I can certainly say that I don't want you anymore."  
I shake her off and step inside.

And it's only then that I realize that I'm trembling. And that she hasn't followed me in.

Phil

I didn't even ask her what her name was.

Does that seem callous and wrong? Gee, I hope not. Oh well, it's not like I care, anyway. Tomorrow morning she'll be gone. They're always gone in the morning. Always.

I reach up and stroke her brow as she starts perspiring in the mild heat of the London summer. I lock my eyes with hers.  
Her eyes were always perfect.

In my alcohol-induced haze, they flicker gold and silver, and I pull her down and stare deep into them. I kiss her roughly on the lips and we move faster, but I never break our eyelock. "I knew you'd come back," I mutter.

She nods and kisses me again, flashing me a broad smile. I run my hands through her hair.

It's up in it's usual ponytail. I grab the band and pull it loose, and long black tresses fall down over her shoulders, draping down onto my face and tickling my sinuses with their fruity scent. I run my fingers through the beautiful mess and let the feeling of perfection wash over me. She's here and with me and all is right and all is beautiful.

I run a hand down her naked, glistening back, reveling in the feeling of her skin against mine after so long without it.

But, there it is.

A patch of smooth skin where I know there should be a scar.

And she's gone again.

It's never right. None of them are ever right. Which is why I can afford to feel nothing. Why I can afford not to care. Always, they come so close. I come so close. But none of them are perfect. None of them are her. None of them mean anything.

Which is why I never ask what their names are. It puts off the inevitable.

so, everything's a mess. kimmi is ignoring her past with phil to try and enjoy her present with tommy, but it's nagging at her. phil is trying to find kimmi in every girl he meets. it all has to come to an end sooner or later. please review.


	8. Redemption

**The Dark Streets of London**  
Acepilot

AN - These days I've been drawing my inspiration from two volumes that have taken up residence on my desk. One is "The Complete Lyrics of Nick Cave 1978-2001". Not just lyrics, but also a stunning lecture on "The Secret Life of the Love Song" (also, technically, the life of the love story), this array of lyrics covers it all, from love and darkness to love and beauty. Those lyrics, and the teachings of Cave, inspired "Love Your Way". This second book has been inspired by another great post-punk artist. "Poguetry" recently joined "The Complete Lyrics of Cave" on my already crowded table. The highly...insightful, and often contemplative lyrics of Shane McGowan featured within inspired this second book. Particularly the song featured in this chapter, "A Pair of Brown Eyes". Some people argue that drawing inspiration for creative writing from poetry and music is some form of cheating or plagiarism, but I'd argue that the finest influences to be found are in the works of the best artists of our time. I realize that this has been an extensive Author's Note with no relevant bearing on the story whatsoever, but I just thought you might like to know where I drew my inspiration from. This is the second and final chapter of "The Dark Streets of London".

And a special thanks to Ixiah for pointing out some of the flaws in this chapter which resulted in me fixing them.

Disclaimer - the characters that appear in this fic originally from "All Grown Up" are property of KlaskyCsupo. The other characters (most obviously The Novacaine Mutiny, Phil's band) are property of Acepilot.

Phil

"Phil! Phil! Open up, Phil!"

I kind of lazily undo the latch on my door and let Tim in, if only to keep him from beating the door down. "Whaddya want?"

He gazes at me in a state of seeming disbelief. "Christ, Phil. When you missed the gig tonight I knew something was wrong, but - "

"Two years to the day," I tell him. "Two years to the day."

A dawning realisation appears on his face. "Ah. This is relevant concerning this...Kimmi character that we've heard so little about?"

I nod slowly and raise the bottle of Teacher's in my hand. "Here's to anniversaries."

Tim snatches the bottle out of my hand before I can drink any of it, and I reach out to grab it again. I end up staggering halfway over to a chair as all the blood in my body chooses that exact moment to rush to my head. "Cheating bastard."

"Phil, this shit is going to kill you."

In my inebriated state I can't do much better than glare at his fuzzy form. "No it won't. It hasn't yet."

He shakes his head and slumps down into the nearest chair. "We got Nathan to go on in your place. He did a pretty good job."

"Good, good," I agree, trying to work out the simplest way to get back my bottle of scotch.

"He could replace you full time. He wants to." Tim sighs. "Do you know why we're not letting him?"

I shrug. "No. Why?"

"Because you're not that bad a guy, Phil. You're a great friend." He meets me eye-to-eye. "But this...this has to stop. It's past a point of being healthy."

I raise my hands, palms out, toward him, then tip them back, exposing my wrists. Exposing my scars. "Past that point long before I met you."

He nods. I knew he had to have noticed. I was just surprised no-one said anything. "Phil, would this girl - this Kimmi - want you to be sitting around drinking?"

I have to fight the urge to spit. "What would she care? She didn't want me."

"Wasn't she your friend? Your roommate?" he asks.

I nod. Slowly, sullenly. Not wanting to admit defeat.

"Would she want you to sit around drinking and smoking?"

I sigh and look down at the floor. "No."

He settles into the headrest of his chair. "Phil, we're your friends. All of us. And we're worried about you. Seriously worried. If this gets much worse, then we're going to be left picking up pieces that we don't know what to do with. The creative kicks you get when you're drunk aren't worth the damage you're doing to yourself. Remember that."

I nod. "I know."

"So do it for us. Give it up for us. Or, if you can't give it up for us, find something you can give it up for. Something you can work towards, or just imagine...or whatever. Just...find something that'll let you get rid of this. Because I, for one, don't want to lose you to it, Phil. You're too good a musician - and far too good a friend, when you're sober - to let fall away."

Kimmi

"Who the hell could that be?"

I shrug and pick up the phone. "Probably telemarketers. Mush-mushi."

And there's silence.

"Hello? Look, I heard the beeps. This has got to be at least interstate. Why waste all this money on a prank call?"

"Who is it?" Tommy asks, curious.

"I dunno," I tell him, looking concernedly at the cradle which is displaying a "caller-id incompatible" message. "I'm hanging up now. Sayonara." I hang up the phone. Rattled.

Phil

"Alright, we're just going to take it down a notch here," Tim announces to the audience.

He looks over to me and I nod, grabbing my stool and repositioning my mic. I sit down, brand-new, never-before-played on stage acoustic resting on my thigh. I lightly strum it and look up and nod once more, putting the mic a little closer to my mouth.

I can feel adrenaline pumping through my body. This is it. This is the real test.

My first dry show.

"We're going to play a song now. By a group called The Pogues."

I'm not surprised at the applause that gets. St. Patrick's Week at Brixton. Of course the Pogues will get a great reaction.

I take a deep breath. I seem to be taking a lot of those tonight. There's no alcohol running through me for the first time in...I don't know how long. Nothing to distract me from the music, nothing to take my mind away from her. So tonight, I play with her in my heart. I play with her being the only thing I see. Not the audience, not the girls, nothing. She's in front of my eyes.

She keeps me going.

I finger a G-chord and pick the three strings until I hear Jamie pick up the bass line. Then I quietly, gently, strum out a traditional folk tune. This is entirely unlike anything I've ever played on stage before. Before, I've only ever been about the violence of love and horrors and darkness. Not that this song is light and beautiful. But there's no power chords and screams. Just soft, simple music.

I just have to think of her.

Lil

After ten minutes I decide that I'm evidently not convincing whoever it is that's knocking at my door that I'm not home. So I get up and answer it, a scowl on my face.

A scowl which disappears the instant I see who's on the other side.

"I brought dinner," Chuckie tells me, holding up a brown paper bag with a sheepish, innocent smile on his face.

I grin at him and step back from the doorway, allowing him in.

"What brought this on?" I ask.

"Hunger," he tells me. "When I get hungry, I eat."

"Ha ha ha."

He grins at me. "Can't blame me for trying." He shrugs off his jacket. "No, I was just worried about you. Hadn't heard from you for a while - " he pauses and looks around my apartment. "Have you redecorated again?"

I nod. "Yeah. Couple of weeks ago."

He quirks an eyebrow but remains otherwise silent. "Right. Anyway, I just thought I'd swing by and see how you were doing. Make sure everything was okay."

I nod. "No problems here."

He's not buying it. But he backs off, for the moment anyway. "What would you prefer? The pasta or the stew? I might have some chicken in here too..."

"You're becoming quite the domestic," I tell him. "What brought all this energy to fruition?"

He shrugs as he begins dumping the contents of his paper bag on my kitchen bench. "Lack of other things to do."

"Pent up sexual tension?" I ask, knowingly.

He grins.

I take that positively. He never used to be able to crack a smile when anything was inferred about his...relationship with Angelica. But...maybe, finally, he's getting some closure.

"Two weeks," he tells me. "Not since the party."

I nod. "Good on you." I sigh slowly. "So, how hard has it been?"

The grin wavers. "Harder than I'd like to admit."

"Fair enough," I tell him.

He sits down and tears aggressively into a piece of chicken. I crack open the tupperware containing his legendary pasta, and he digs through the bag to find me a small zip-lock bag of grated cheese. "So, my question is..."

"Two years, huh?" I finish for him. "Yeah, it occurred to me, too."

"Do you wish you had him back?" he asks, delicately.

I nod. "Every day. I wish that he hadn't left while we were fighting. I wish that he hadn't left at all, come to that. But...I don't know. Maybe it's been better for me than I'd like to admit."

"How so?" he asks.

"Well, he was all I'd ever known," I muse. "As much as it pains me to be so far apart from him, maybe this has been some great character building exercise. This has helped me find out who I am."

"I was talking to Suzie about it," he admits. "She thought you might say that."

Why does it not surprise me that Suzie can see straight through me without even being here to do it?

"He's my twin brother," I tell him. "And he left angry with me."

"You've changed," he tells me.

"I had to."

He nods.

"Do you think you and Angelica will ever sort it all out?" I ask.

He shrugs, and his eyes adopt a far-off, misty quality. He's looking straight through me, straight through the wall behind me, into a future that I can't see. One with Angelica. One without Angelica. Who knows. "I hope so."

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know."

Which is probably as good an answer as I'm going to get.

"Pass the salt, please," I ask.

And he does.

"Do you love her?" I ask.

He nods.

And we eat in peace.

Phil

I launch into an impromptu guitar solo, sliding my fingers up and down the cool steel strings and hoping to hell I don't bugger this up. Tim pats me on the back as he walks past to get his bottle of water and I have to kind of grin at the display of support. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. I used to always know that everyone was watching but it never really bothered me before. But now I'm acutely aware of it. There's nothing else to be aware of.

It had never occurred to me how much of a different experience this would be.

I can hear Tim's subdued gargling. I can make out Eddie and Marc's near-silent argument over what count to come in on. All these things that I can normally block out so easily. They're all as large as life. Filling my mind. It's insane.

But I've got her there to hold my hand.

We go for a walk through the park near our apartment and I smile as she tells one of her jokes. She rests her head on my shoulder and we watch the sunset as we walk onwards. Discussing meaningless, menial things. The weather. The latest sport scores. We sit on a park bench and I run a hand through her hair as we kiss.

I don't need a drink. For the first time in years, I don't need anything, other than knowing she's there.

And she is.


	9. Correspondence

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - The Third Book of "In The End". This is just the prologue. The real stuff doesn't start until the next chapter. This one will be less gloomy than the other two, I promise. But it'll still be fairly angst driven, I promise that as well.

Disclaimer - the characters of AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo.

Dear Phil...

Hey man. How've you been? Got the latest CD the other day. You guys have outdone yourselves. Again. I hope life in London is working out for you.

I know we haven't exactly kept in contact over the last four years...but, well, this "long engagement" thing that Kimmi and I have been doing has gone on long enough, we both agree. So we're getting married in two weeks.

Sorry if this is short notice...but can you come home? Be one of my groomsmen? I know it's been a long time, but it would mean so much to me if you could be here on the day. The rest of the gang will be there. We all miss you, Phil. Kimmi didn't say anything about it, but you could tell she was shattered when you moved away. I kind of think she'd want you there. And I want you there, too. We've been best friends for too long to let the Atlantic Ocean separate us, Phil. Keep in mind I'm not taking no for an answer.

Tommy.

Tommy...

I've managed to clear my schedule - to an extent. Our tour ends in Sheffield eleven days from now. I'll come to the USA immediately afterwards. Hopefully in time for the bachelor party.

Phil.

Phil...

Tommy tells us that you're coming home for the wedding. Excited though I am tat the prospect of seeing you again, I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I'm worried. Are you sure you're up for this? I mean, I'm still no 100 sure about what the hell happened between you and my sister, but it doesn't take a genius to fill in the blanks. You do realize this is her WEDDING you are coming to attend? You were sliding out of control when they were dating. After he proposed to her, you just up and left. Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?

Chuckie.  
PS. Angelica wants to go on record saying: "This is a bad idea."

Chuckie and Nightmare,

I'm fully aware of what's going on here. I'm fully aware that this is the embodiment of everything I've been trying to avoid for four years. But didn't you tell me that sooner or later I was going to have to confront this whole situation? Sooner or later, I would have to face it? Well, now is the time I'm going to face it. I don't expect you to understand or agree. Just...let me try and work things out.

Phil.

PS. I think it's a bad idea too.


	10. Arrival

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - There's a moment in the last verse of Nick Cave's cover of "Hey Joe" (on the LP "Kicking Against The Pricks") when these violins pick up over these scratchy electric guitars and a drum/piano combo. It earns my vote as one of the five best uses of a string section in the history of contemporary music. This chapter is dedicated to that moment.

Disclaimer - The characters of AGU are the property of KlaskyCsupo.

I've run out of excuses. I've run out of ways to procrastinate. I've run out of escape routes.

When I left London, Tim drove me to the airport and dropped me off with a sarcastic comment that he'd never see me again. I just grinned at him and shrugged. I don't know what I was thinking at the time. Maybe I would stay here. Make amends with my friends and family I up and left on. Find a new band, diplomatically part ways with the old one. Nathan could finally get his dream of playing with The Novocaine Mutiny.

But now I'm standing in the Airport with my only luggage - an overnight bag and my acoustic guitar - and I realize that everything I've done to this moment has been a delaying tactic. Delaying seeing everyone again. Delaying being a part of this world again.

And now, there's no more delays.

My sister sees me first. I see her first, too. Before I notice Chuckie and Angelica who maintain a respectful distance as we hug, seeing each other for the first time since our birthday. She's got tears in her eyes and they leak onto my shoulder. "I missed you, you big oaf."

I grin. "Well, don't I feel loved."

She shakes her head and leans back to look at me. "I just can't believe you came back."

I manage to look taken aback at that. But she's right. I can't believe I came back either. "Whatever do you mean?"

She frowns at me in pity. "Just...you know...I mean, I totally don't blame you for running away -"

All the happiness and mirth in my face leaves as quickly as it arrived. "I didn't run away."

She smiles softly, almost patronisingly at me. "Phil, it's me -"

"I didn't run away," I cut her off again. This time leaving no room for argument.

She nods. "You didn't run away."

"Come on," I tell her, grabbing my guitar. "Let's go grab Chuckie and Angelica and go to wherever the hell it is I'm staying."

She nods. She's rattled by our little exchange but doesn't drop her loving hand from my arm. Perhaps the greatest thing about my sister is her willingness to forgive. I wouldn't have gotten through on love alone.

"You got into town last," she tells me, "so I'm afraid pretty much everywhere is booked up. We couldn't squeeze you in anywhere. So Suzie, Chuckie, Angelica and I have all pitched in to get you a hotel room."

I shake my head. "That's not necessary. I can pay."

She glares at me briefly. "When you find out where you're staying, you'll know why the four of us split the bill."

Ah. "Okay, sure."

And we're within striking distance of Chuckie and Angelica. For the first time since I left four years ago, I'm actually standing toe-to-toe with two of my oldest friends.

So Chuckie and I share a brief, manly hug, at which Angelica barks out a laugh. I turn to her. "Hey, Angie. How've you been?"

She nods. "Better than when you left."

"Good," I tell her. "So, what's on the itinerary?"

"We're going to take you to the hotel, so you can make up some sleep, then we're going to the party." Chuckie looks me up and down. "If you're up for it."

"I'm up for it," I assure him. "I'm up for it."

Angelica and Chuckie share a concerned glance, but I disregard it.

"Alright then. Let's go."

alright, really short chapter, i know. it's a start. just to establish everything. chapter two was posted simultaneously with this, so it'll make more sense, hopefully.


	11. Still In Love

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - "In The End" continues. I hope you all enjoyed Phil's return in Chapter 1, now we're down to the nitty gritty. The Bachelor Party/Hens Night in one without the rambunctious rowdiness. Hopefully it works. The support that people have shown throughout the course of this fic has been fantastic. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Oh, and I know that I've already used the song in this chapter before, but I just thought it worked well with the scene. Plus, it keeps up continuity.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo. The song "Love Your Way" is by Powderfinger

* * *

Tommy

"That was Lil on the phone," I tell Kimmi, leaning on the doorjamb of the bathroom. "Phil got in fine, they took him to the hotel. He's getting some sleep now, and then we're all going to meet at the club."

She smiles at me in the mirror, fixing her earrings. But...I can tell something's wrong. She's hesitant. The smile doesn't reach her eyes. "That's great," she tells me anyway.

I shake my head. "No, it's not. What's up, sweetie?"

She sighs. "I don't know." Her hands drop into her lap and she frowns. I walk up behind her and start gently massaging her shoulders, and she rolls her head to allow me access to her neck. "Just, isn't it going to feel...weird?"

It's my turn to frown. "How do you mean, 'weird'?"

"Well...like it was when he left," she mutters, and I don't have to ask her to specify a 'he'.

"It wasn't that weird," I remind her. "Phil was going through some things then. He's had four years. He seemed fine when I spoke to him."

She glares at our reflection. "He seemed fine before he tried to kill himself, too."

"Kimmi!" I can't say I'm not shocked. She's never spoken that bluntly about Phil's suicide attempt before. Like she's...angry, almost.

"Well, it's true," she points out. "He didn't talk to anyone about anything, he kept quiet..."

"And this was seeming fine?" I shake my head quickly. "Alright, let's not get into this."

"Fine by me," she growls, and glares at the mirror again.

I furrow my brows. "Have you listened to any of the Novacaine Mutiny CDs?"

"No."

"Not one?" I ask. "You never wondered what Phil was doing over there?"

"I knew what Phil was doing over there," she tells me. "I didn't need to hear a bunch of wailing guitars."

"It's really deep stuff," I tell her. "He's quite a songwriter."

"Really? Good for him." She picks up a brush. "I've got to get ready."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Look, sorry. I just thought you'd be thrilled to see him again. You were so depressed when he left."

"Yeah, well, it's been four years, like you said."

I hang my head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm past it," she tells me. "I'm past it."

"Okay," I agree. But I really don't think she's talking to me.

I know she still dreams about it. Something about it. The suicide? His midnight flight to London? Something. She wakes up trembling and sweating and clutching at her wrists. She always denies that it's about Phil, but she's lying. I don't mind that she lies about it. I mean, sure, it kinda hurts, but I can understand why.

I just wish that she'd talk about it. I just wish that she would tell me about what happened between her and Phil that left her the most devastated by his departure.

"I'm going to have a shower," I tell her.

She nods. "Okay." She finally turns to face me out of the mirror. "I'm sorry. I...don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," I tell her. "Phil hurt us all when he disappeared. I don't blame you."

"Don't blame him, either," she suggests. "Just...it was no-one's fault."

"Okay," I concede. "I'm going to go have that shower now."

"It was no-one's fault," she repeats quietly.

* * *

Phil

I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror critically. I look alright. Coat neatly cleaned, dark green top comfortable, black pants not creased.

I hang my head, staring into the basin. Why am I trying to impress these people?

They're my best friends. They're people I knew for the first twenty-three years of my life. Of course, I'm now twenty-seven. And the most contact I've kept in with them over the intermittent years are exchanged birthday presents, letters, phone calls. I've seen only one of them in the flesh, and that was Lil. Our birthday, last year. I bought her a ticket to Paris and we met there and I took her shopping. It was the most at home I'd felt in years. But then I went back to London. I couldn't come back to the states. Not with her still here.

But that time had to come sooner or later, didn't it?

I turn to face Chuckie. "So, whaddya think?"

He nods. "You look good. You sound weird."

I smile. "Yeah, I get that a lot. English accent."

"It was funniest when you and Lil were having a conversation at the airport. You so don't look like twins when you sound different." He pauses for a moment. "If you know what I mean."

I nod and clap him on the shoulder. "I know."

He gives me a soft smile. "Are you up for this? Up for facing her?"

I shake my head. "Not a hope in hell." I sling my jacket over my shoulder. "So let's go do it, I guess."

"We don't have to go, Phil. You don't have to. I could tell everyone you were too jet-lagged."

"Thanks," I tell him, "but no thanks. This was an inevitability, remember, Chuck? It had to happen some time?"

He sighs. "I know. Just..."

"If I don't go tonight, then I'm not going tomorrow," I tell him. "So let's do this."

He nods. "Alright. If you're sure."

We step back out into the living area and I smile. "Sis, you're a vision."

Lil grins sassily at me and I offer her my arm. Her scarlet dress is accentuated by a red bow in her hair. "Flatterer."

I grin back, for the first time since I arrived in this country feeling my body lose it's incredible tension. "Of course." I turn to the other female occupant of the room. "And Angelica..." I pause for dramatic effect, before finally offering, "what can I say?"

"Nothing, if you're smart," she tells me, and grabs Chuckie by the arm, dragging him out of the hotel room.

I go to lead Lil out as well, but she catches my arm. "Look, Phil, I don't want to see you get hurt - "

"No-one's going to hurt me," I assure her. "It's all in the past now. She's getting married tomorrow. I'm happy in London."

"I'm your sister, remember, Phil?" She smiles at me sadly, not quite with pity but close. "I was never in love with Tommy. I realized that. I stopped chasing that dream years ago. But you and Kimmi..." she sighs. "I'm sorry about that fight we had before you left. Before you - "

I nod. "I know. I'm sorry for it too. I was drunk, I was...I was in a bad place." To say the least.

"But what the fight was about..." she pats me on the arm. "You were right. What I felt for Tommy...wasn't anything like what you felt for Kimmi. What you and Kimmi shared. And - yeah, so she's getting married tomorrow. But does that change anything from when she was just getting married four years ago? Does it make it easier for you to deal with?" I go to answer, but she presses a finger to my lips and I'm cut off. "Don't answer that. Don't keep spouting the same positive crap. Just..." she sighs. "I don't know."

I nod slowly and take her hand, giving it a slight, reassuring squeeze. "I know. I know." I turn us back toward the door. "Now come on, we've got a party to go to."

* * *

Kimmi

We met outside eleven minutes ago. And in that time, he hasn't said a single word.

Not to me, anyway. Other than, 'Hello' or other small pleasantries. We hugged, but it was more for appearances than anything else. He talks with his sister and whenever he does it's with a surprisingly thick English accent. We're finally inside, in the bar, and he's sticking close to Lil, Chuckie and Angelica, and as far away from me as possible. I don't know if he's being polite or if he really hates me.

Four years. Four years does a lot to a person. Four years when a person who tells you they love you doesn't talk to you, doesn't contact you - goes out of his way to contact everyone but you, in fact - or anything of the sort. It hurts a bit. Like, where did this love go? Did he miss me at all? Did he yearn for me? Is it fair to ask these questions when I'm marrying Tommy? Maybe, maybe not. But...well...I guess every ego needs to be stroked sometimes.

Because, even if I didn't love him, I still thought of him. I was devastated when he left. I didn't leave the apartment for days. But he went and joined his band, and is living a good life in London. Did he once think of me? Sulk over me?

"Hi," Tommy greets the bartender. "I'll have three beers, a carafe of your finest red, uh...Angelica? Are you still drinking Rum and Diet Coke?" She nods vaguely to her cousin. "A rum and diet coke, and a scotch neat."

"Uh," Phil leans in. "Make it a coke."

"Alright, a scotch and coke," Tommy corrects himself to the bartender.

"No, just a coke," Phil tells us, kind of stepping back and looking almost abashed. "I...I gave up drinking."

That earned some raised eyebrows. "You gave up drinking?" Tommy asks in something resembling disbelief.

"Yeah," Phil says, his chest heaving. "I've been dry about eighteen months now."

I'm kind of aware of Tommy changing the order, but only vaguely. Eighteen months without drinking? Phil?

But of course, that meant he was still drinking for almost two and a half years...

We sit down at a table and I listen as conversations strike up. Suzie arrives late from recording and everything seems perfect. We're all together again. Phil is telling amusing anecdotes about London, about his band - but he's not really getting into them. Everything seems perfect. But it isn't, really. He's not looking at me if he can at all avoid it. He's not talking to me, even when he's telling stories to the group. This group night instead of bachelor and hen's nights seemed like a really good idea at the time. But now I really wish the boys would just go away and...well, in the case of Tommy, Dil and Chuckie at least, get pissed.

I'm trying not to look at him, either. I'm not exactly sure what I think it'll accomplish. Maybe it's some kind of survival instinct. Who knows.

"I've got to ask," Suzie finally pitches in. "I've been listening to Novacaine Mutiny CDs. How do you write that kind of stuff?"

Phil kind of smiles. But not really. "I don't know, really. It's just...it's just imagination, mostly."

He's lying. I don't even know what he's talking about, but I know he's lying.

"They're like the most horrifying music that can still be called love songs," Suzie insists.

"The early stuff, anyway. Since I've stopped drinking I've calmed down a bit," Phil points out.

"Granted, but..." Suzie sits back with a look of almost admiration on her face. "It's pretty stunning stuff. Very hard-core."

He shrugs. "We're a hardcore band."

He wrote love songs.

Violent, horrifying love songs.

This isn't my problem.

But, oh, it so is.

* * *

Phil

She's angry at me.

I'm tempted to explode at her, demand to know what right she has to be angry at me. Me, who she walked out on. Who she abandoned in a time of need. Who she never showed any kind of compassion for, unless you count a pity fuck as compassion.

And I personally don't.

I'll admit that some of the things I did in London - and some of the things I did before I left - were pretty unsavoury. I was drinking to excess, I was smoking, I was being...well, I was being a real shit of a person. I attempted suicide, and there's no justification for that. I just gave up and selfishly decided to end it all, with no care for what it did to anyone. How much it would hurt people.

But no matter what I did, she's got some gall still being angry with me after all this time.

Because I still love her.

And somehow, that's relevant.

I'm dragged out of my little reprieve by a tug on my shoulder. I look over at Dil, who points at the stage. Where Suzie is standing next to a guy with a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for The One Way Street's lead singer, our very own Suzie Carmichael!"

I grin. I'm not surprised that she still does this every time. Even with her own band, I couldn't picture her stopping.

"Thank you," Suzie says, accepting the mic. "But, while I'm up here, I'd like to get one of my friends on stage with me."

Oh no. Oh no. Not a chance in hell.

"People of all ages and genders, direct from the UK, the Novocaine Mutiny's guitarist, Mr. Phillip DeVille!"

I sink further down into my seat, and try not to be noticed. But everyone's looking in my direction. Dil is pointing me out to anyone who'll spare a glance, and Chuckie and Angelica are all but dancing around me.

I growl. "I find out who's idea this was, and they're dead meat," I announce to the table, but I rise and stomp up to the stage anyway.

There's a house acoustic waiting for me. I take a seat and Suzie leans over. "I didn't think you'd come up."

"I'm full of surprises," I tell her. "After all, I'm a professional musician. Now what are we playing?"

She shrugs. "Surprise me. If I don't know the lyrics, then I'll make some up."

I grin and start fiddling with the machine heads, trying to get the damn thing in tune. For the first time since I arrived back in this country, I feel at ease. This is what I do. No matter what crap is going on, music is something I can escape to. Holding a guitar in my hand is the most natural action I know these days.

Once I'm satisfied the instrument is in tune, I start thinking about what to play.

And then I see her.

Sitting at the table, next to Tommy, staring at me for the first time tonight. I don't think she's spared me a glance until now. Not really. But now she's staring at me and I don't know what I can make out in her eyes. Whether she's angry or happy or confused. But she's beautiful.

I bar the second fret and start to play. Suzie nods as I finish the intro and raises the mic to her lips.

**_(insert "Love Your Way" by Powderfinger over next several paragraphs)

* * *

_**

As he aggressively strums the chorus our eyes lock. I don't know why he chose this song, but I know there's a reason for it. And I know the reason is me.

I blame him for so much of what happened four years ago. But then again, I always was a bit selfish like that.

I rise slowly from my chair and slink onto the dance floor, leaving the others at the table watching me with detached interest.

The morning after we slept together, and he was pleading on his knees in front of me, I couldn't help but remember the sight of him laying on his back on the living room floor, blood coming from his wrists. That hurt me. So much that I almost couldn't breathe. And I couldn't stand the thought of going through that again. So I ran, leaving him on his own. Leaving him without anyone to support him. And I made things worse.

I stand still in the middle of the dance floor. My eyes haven't left his once.

* * *

I watch her standing in the middle of the dance floor staring at me. I know why I chose this song. Or at least, I know that I did it because of her. Because I don't know why I love her. Not after everything we've been through. By rights, I should hate her. She deserves it, almost. But I can't. I just...well, love is for fools, isn't it?

I set the guitar down but Suzie keeps singing. I step down off the stage and walk across the dance floor to where she stands.

And we stand there, not moving, not speaking. A few others are on the dance floor around us, moving to music that isn't there anymore. Suzie's soulful voice is hitting new notes. The gang are sitting at the table watching us standing together amongst the moving masses.

I don't remember how it began. But the next moment she's in my arms.

The last kiss I shared with her was one that, I knew at the time, would be tinged with regret and finality. Never again would I get to be with her like I was then. But now, years later, I'm getting another chance. And there's no way I'm letting it slip by.

I press my lips to hers, running my tongue over her mouth, forcing her lips apart. I try to pull her closer but she's already as near to me as she can get.

* * *

I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on my toes to try and make up for the height deficiency, which he finally solves by hoisting me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. It was never like this with Tommy. Never. This is...this is so much different. What I share with Tommy is safe and warm and loving and secure. But this is raw, and emotional, and hopeful but fearful and desperate but beautiful. This is the exact opposite of everything I always told myself I wanted.

He slides a hand under the hem of my shirt, reaching up and stroking the skin of my back. I moan against his mouth and arch my torso, trying to get more contact. I feel his hair under my chin as he nuzzles my throat before finally returning to kissing me. Something that I hadn't experienced enough to realize how much I would miss it.

* * *

I moan against her as she runs her hands up and down my back and I have to fight the urge to take her here and now. Never in my life have I experienced this kind of passion. This kind of beauty. I lean back slightly, and take in the sight of her, topless, eyes hooded and breathing heavily, powerfully.

"I love you," I tell her.

She nods, but doesn't respond.

So I thump out the verses on the ancient Gibson arch-top and watch her sitting at the table with the rest of the gang as Suzie delivers the lyrics with emotion like I've never heard. Our eyes haven't left each other's during the whole song. I wonder if Tommy's noticed.

Probably. Probably doesn't think it means anything.

But it means so much.

* * *

Lil

I watch the silent exchange between my brother and Kimi. And I just can't help but feel the dread settle in my stomach.

I wish they'd ended up together. Initially, I wished it for my own, selfish desires. It left Tommy for me. But now, I don't feel that way. Even if she did break it off with him, or the other way around, I don't think I could bring myself to chase after him. Because I never really did love him. All those years ago, Phil was right. I knew it even then, I just didn't want to face it. So it surprised me moreso than anyone else when a ticket to Paris and a very emotional letter arrived in my mailbox last March. We hit the town of Paris, he took me shopping, we had a great time.

I don't think he ever forgot what I said to him. But he forgave me.

And I just want him to be happy.

And I don't buy it for a minute that Kimmi doesn't feel something for him.

For a start, he wasn't here to see the aftermath of his sudden departure. He didn't see Kimmi walking around like her heart was ripped out. She probably thinks it was just because of the shitty way that she left things. But I don't think so. I think it was more than that.

But I think he did see what happened just now. Between him and her. That song wasn't an impulse. It was for her.

And they both know it.

I exchange a quick glance with Angelica. She knows it too.

So what happens next?

Phil returns to the table and I'm unsurprised to see that he's sweating, with an almost-convincing grin on his face. But I know better. Wouldn't be much of a twin if I didn't. "That was fun," he declares. But instead of sitting back down in his seat, he grabs his coat off the back of it. "But, sadly, I have to go. I'm still feeling a bit jet-lagged."

Tommy is the first to object. Of course. But Phil politely shakes his insistences off and just smiles at us all. But he doesn't meet Kimi's eyes. Not once.

I follow him out into the street and grab him by the arm. He spins around, fake grin still plastered to his face. But when he sees that I'm the only one there, he drops the facade, and frowns. I can see tears forming in the side of his eyes, and I step forward to embrace him.

"I wasn't ready," he whispers. "I'm not ready."

I nod slowly, patting him on the back. "I know," I tell him. I finally push him back to arms length, and watch him wipe the moisture from his eyes. "Will we still be seeing you at the wedding tomorrow?"

He shrugs. "We'll see, I guess."

I nod. That's all I was really expecting.

He nods back. And slips off into the night, without a word.

And I'm beginning to comprehend how different experiences of love he and I have had.

* * *

Kimmi

Epiphanies are interesting things.

I bring this up because I've just had one. I could have done without it, in a broader sense. If I hadn't had it, then these thoughts wouldn't be running through my head. If I hadn't had it, then I would be comfortable in the knowledge that I would be getting married to the man of my dreams tomorrow. That I would be with Tommy Pickles until the day I die, and never regret one second of what would be a comfortable and beautiful life.

But that's all gone now.

Because whatever I thought I was over concerning Phil DeVille is in no such way a closed book.

So I've gone from loathing him for running away from everything and leaving me to pick up the pieces; to hating myself, for blaming him for something that was my fault and - worse still - leaving him in his time of need. Even worse, for using him and then abandoning him, like dirt. Like garbage.

Like something he deserves so much more than.

I hate myself for settling for Tommy when I didn't know what I felt for Phil. I still don't know what I feel for Phil? Do I hate him? Do I want to hate him? Do I still have a friendship with him? Or did we cross a line long ago that can't be taken back? Is it too late now to undo what was done?

Am I responsible for the scars on his wrists? Am I responsible for his disappearance? For his four-year absence from his family, from his loved ones?

For an epiphany, this seems very open-ended.

"You okay?" Tommy asks, quietly, over the music which has picked up again over the PA.

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I'm alright," I lie.

I'm not alright.

* * *

Lil

I push open the bathroom door and step slowly through the sortie before entering the restrooms proper. I can hear her sobbing and I'm not entirely surprised.

"Hey, Kimmi, it's me," I announce, cautiously, waiting for a reaction from one of the stalls.

We're alone, I note, as she pushes open one of the doors.

"Hey," she says, wiping at her eyes.

I nod. "How are you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, doubtful. And worried.

"No," she tells me. Simple. To the point. "I...I think I've got to go."

I nod. I was more-or-less expecting it.

"Can you tell the guys for me?" she asks.

If you hurt my brother again, best friend or no I will kill you. I know you love him, and I know he loves you, and if you can work it out, then great. But it's not worth all this hurt. Because it's not just the two of you who'll be effected. It's everyone. It's Tommy, it's me, it's Chuckie and Angelica. And all we want to do is see you happy. But this isn't happiness, Kimmi. This is just pain and misery. "Yeah, I will."

She nods. "Okay."

* * *

Kimmi

I don't know how I end up here. But I do all the same.

I don't know why I came here.

Or so I'd like to tell myself.

I think from the moment he left the party I knew what was going to happen. I think from the moment I saw him tonight, I somehow knew it. I don't know how I knew it and I sure as hell wish it wasn't so. But I knew.

I raise my hand and slowly knock on the door. My stomach fills with dread and guilt, but I can't seem to stop myself.

And when it opens, and I see him standing there, I know he knows it too.

"Hi," I say.

He nods.

And then we're in each other's arms.

* * *

reviews are ever appreciated. 


	12. The Tears Are Welling In My Eyes Again

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - This is the (very brief) third chapter of the Wedding Chronicles. Thanks to all of you who got through the marathon second chapter. Your bravery is appreciated. This chapter is honestly not quite all it could have been, but I'm fairly happy with the end result. I could be a lot less so, anyway.

Disclaimer - The AGU characters are property of KlaskyCsupo.

It's the walls that threw me.

When, almost fifteen minutes ago now, I first woke up, there was nothing especially wrong. I was tucked safe in Phil's embrace, my head slotted into the crook of his neck. I felt warm, at ease. I just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, savor in the warmth, feeling safe, secure, and complete. My body ached pleasantly and I almost wanted to chuckle at the memory of how last night had gone, how we'd ravaged each other, how we'd played and held each other and caressed each other and...it had been perfect.

But then I noticed the walls.

The walls in my bedroom are dark green. They've been dark green for three and a half years now. They got painted not long after I moved in, we had to sleep on the couch for a week because of the stupid fumes.

But the walls here are that sickening shade of hotel-off-white.

And with that thought, the fact that I'm lying next to Phil DeVille becomes all that bit more complicated.

Because Phil DeVille, no matter how right he makes me feel at the moment, is not the man who I should be lying next to. I should be in the embrace of my fiance, if anyone. Actually, I shouldn't have woken up with anyone this morning. This is my wedding day, after all.

Which just sends the fact that I'm with Phil this morning spiraling even further out of control. Not only have I woken up with Phil DeVille, a man with whom I have built a relationship based on mistrust and pain, but I have also woken up next to another man on my wedding day. I've cheated on my fiance.

So why does it feel so right? Why does it feel like I could happily curl up and be with him forever? Like this wasn't my wedding day, but just some other lazy morning. I could lie here with him, let the sun creep in through the window and simply let the world take care of itself for a day.

But I can't. We can't.

I watch him sleeping, carefully. I never have, before. When he was in hospital, I couldn't bare to. I spent the entire time he was there rushing around, getting drinks, calling people, exploring - anything other than sitting there watching him breathe, dead to the world. So close to death it was frightening me.

But now, all I can see is him asleep. For once without the shields raised, for once not troubled by the difficulties of his life. Not worried by depression, or by alcohol, or by anything else that plagues him. I wonder if he has happy dreams, despite the horrors of his life.

I want to blame him for what happened four years ago. But it gets more difficult by the second.

And I don't know if I can look him in the eye knowing what I did to him.

And, I realize, what I've done again.

Because, as perfect as this is, this is my wedding day. How can I lie here and be with him when I'm meant to be marrying someone else?

How can I marry someone else when Phil and Phil alone makes me feel this good? Feels this natural, feels this right to be with?

I don't know.

I don't know why I expected to wake up next to her.

It's only just now seven o'clock and her side of the bed's already cold. She must have gotten up and left early. To spare the same scene as last time, perhaps?

Maybe this is time to let her go. To put her behind me. To shed that part of my life.

But I can't. Because I've come to far. It's gone on too long.

But she's marrying someone else today. And where does that leave me? The man who fell in love with her too late and will never be able to shake her. A hopeless, luckless loser.

Pretty apt.

I roll over and stare at my tux hanging in the back of the door. My tux.

For her wedding.

And my eyes grow a little mistier.

i told you it was brief. please review.


	13. Crisis

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - For once, I have nothing really to say. Except thanks to all who have given me feedback. Couldn't have done it without you guys.

Disclaimer - The AGU characters are KlaskyCsupo's. No song in this chapter!

I don't know if I've ever felt this way before. Actually, I don't even know how it is I feel. This is...this is indescribable. I don't htink there's any other word for it.

I slept with him. Again.

And then I left without a word.

"Sorry," Suzie mutters as she walks in through the dressing room door. I watch her in the mirror. "Things got nuts at recording."

I smile softly at her. "That's okay. You didn't miss anything."

"Yeah, but I'm still late. And you know how I hate to be late."

I chuckle and nod. No matter how hectic the music industry gets, Suzie Carmichael is still the one woman in it who can be organized enough to get to everything - and I mean everything - on time.

She disappears behind a screen with her dress. "Speaking of late," she comments, "I left at seven this morning. But I couldn't help but notice you sneaking back into Camp Bridal Party at about four." She pauses for effect. "Bit odd considering you left the party early."

I shrug. "I went for a walk."

"For four and a half hours?" She queries. I can hear the blatant amusement in her voice.

I sink into my seat. "I had some things to think about."

She sighs and appears from behind the changing panel as her ever-perfect self in a dress that is sure to leave even me overshadowed. "Kimmi, how long have we been best friends?"

I don't even have to think about it. "Since I was four years old."

She walks up and rests a hand on my shoulder. "Then don't you think I deserve the truth, instead of this crap you're running?"

If there's one great thing about having Suzie as my best friend, it's that she's not broadly inclined to mince words.

I'm tempted to insist that she's imagining it, that everything's fine, that I wouldn't lie to her. And she'd accept it, because that who she is. If I was insistent, then she wouldn't push. She'd take it and we'd go on. She wouldn't believe a single word of it, but we'd go on. Like best friends do.

But it'd be wrong. And I know it. Something is wrong. I'm lying to her. And we've come too far, too long, as best friends, to start lying now.

"I cheated on Tommy last night," I admit, and I feel the shame and guilt creeping into my body. But this is the first time that I have, really, I realize, and that just makes me feel ashamed further.

Suzie gasps and covers her mouth with a hand. "I'd..." she's struggling for words. "I'd assumed you'd been with Tommy."

I nod. "I thought you might have."

She hangs her head. "Oh, Kimmi..." she takes a deep breath. "Who was it?"

I sigh. "Look, Suzie, don't blame him. I went after him, I should have left him alone. I knew what would happen."

"Phil," she says. It's not a question. It's a fact. She knows it.

I nod. "Phil." One syllable. Just Phil.

"Would I be correct in guessing," Suzie begins, still clearly rattled by recent revelations, "that this is related to why he tore out of here four years ago?"

I nod slowly. "I slept with him then, too," I confrim, and I feel this fantastic weight rise from my shoulders. For the first time in almost half a decade, I've admitted to sleeping with Phil. Not only to another person, but - more significantly - to myself. Never, in all this time, have I said it out loud.

Suzie, for the first time since I've known her, seems lost for words. "Kimmi..."

I cut her off. It's not that I don't value what she has to say. If ever there's someone I can count on to offer a valuable opinion, it's Suzie. But now it's more important for me to talk this through to myself. "I slept with him just after he got out of hospital," I tell her. "I...It's not that I don't know why, it's that I don't want to admit why. I knew he loved me, he told me. And so I slept with him, because I felt guilty. I slept with him to make me feel better about ripping his heart out. About driving him to suicide and being to self-absorbed to notice. And he begged me to stay - but..." I feel tears creeping into my eyes. "But I ran to Tommy. I was so confused...and so scared...I didn't even think of what I was doing..."

At this point, I just can't hold it in any longer, and I finally collapse, tears streaming down my face. Suzie wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close and allowing me to cry into her. She drops to her knees and I cry on her shoulder. She whispers soothingly, but I can't hear her. All I can hear over my own sobs is Phil's voice begging me to all but rescue him from himself.

Suzie grabs a bottle of water off the bench and presses it into my hand. "Here, drink."

I make a few shaky attempts at taking a sip before I finally manage to get some water into my mouth. I don't realize how hot my body has gotten until the water starts cooling me off. I'm still choking out sobs, but I've got to finish. I can't stop now. "I didn't think of what I was doing to him," I confess, tearfully. Painfully. "I was just so focussed on the fact that I'd risked everything with Tommy that what I felt for Phil or what he felt for me didn't matter."

Suzie nods, pulling back slightly. "And what did you feel for Phil?"

I shake my head. "I didn't know. And I didn't seem him again. I spent three days at Tommy's, and when I got back...he was gone." I gasp and have to take some more water to bring my body back under control. "But last night..." my lip trembles. "Last night, I saw him again, and I was trying to hard to hate him. For running away," I elaborated, quickly. "But I couldn't. Because it was my fault. I...I used him, I let him think that I would leave Tommy for him. I took some kind of sick advantage of him. I was telling myself that I was helping him, but I knew I was doing just the opposite."

Suzie nods. "So what was last night?"

I take a deep breath. What was last night? An apology? No, I know better than that now.

"Last night was perfect," I tell her. "The singular most amazing experience of my life. It was so impossibly right that it was almost painful."

"If last night was perfect," Suzie asks, "then what are you doing sitting here, about to get married to a man who doesn't inspire such feelings of perfection in you?"

I know. I didn't want to admit it, but I know. "Because I don't deserve him." I look down shamefully at my feet. "Not after what I did to him. Not after I abused his love like that."

"Was he awake when you left?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I couldn't face him. I just couldn't."

"But you're so afraid that he hates you because you abused him! Leaving him to wake up alone doesn't count!"

I realise I'm crying again as I throw my hands up in some kind of pathetic self defence. "I know! I know!" I collapse against her again. "Suzie, I'm so confused..."

"I can tell," she tells me. She pulls up a seat and drops down to my eye level. "Do you want it straight up or sugar coated?"

I sigh. "Straight up."

She heaves in relief. "Good. I didn't know how I was going to put a good spin on this." She takes one of my hands in her own. "Kimmi, Tommy's a great guy. And he'll work for the rest of his life to make sure that you aren't left wanting. He loves you." She shakes her head at me slowly. "But you don't love him." I'm about to tell her that I do when she presses a finger to my lips. "Not really. Not the way you love Phil. Because, girl, you love Phil. There's no point denying it any more. So you can walk down that aisle and marry Tommy, but it'll be wrong. It'll all be a lie."

I nod. "I know."

"I can't make a choice for you," she tells me. "And it would be wrong for me to try. But you've got to make one. And it has to be now. Because in two hours, you're going to be expected at a wedding. So either come with me and walk down that aisle, and marry Tommy, who loves you. Or don't, and try and find Phil, and tell him you love him. It's your choice."

I frown. "I know."

Suzie kisses me on the forehead. "Do you want some time alone to think?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I think I do."

She clasps my shoulder again as she rises. "No matter what happens, Kimmi, you have friends who love you."

I grasp her hand. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

And then she's gone. And I'm alone.

So. What next?

what next indeed. please review.


	14. The Storm Break

**The Wedding Chronicles**  
Acepilot

AN - This is sort of the culmination, I guess. There's still more to come, but...this chapter was brutally hard to write and took ages. This chapter took almost 15 days, all up. I hope you enjoy the centrepiece of "In The End".

Disclaimer - The AGU characters are property of KlaskyCsupo.

---

It's going to storm, I can tell.

I'm sitting in my darkened hotel room, in front of a roaring fire, dressed in a tux with the bow loosened and draped like a scarf around my neck. A tumbler with a small amount of scotch in it is at my side, but for once it remains untouched. Drinking holds no appeal anymore. I did enough of that to last me a lifetime.

She's going to marry him

She deserves someone like him. She deserves a successful husband, someone who can treat her like she deserves. I mean, what am I? An Indy musician. Hardly an occupation that makes a lot of money. He's a superstar director. A Golden Globe nominee. What the hell do I have to offer?

But why did last night go like it did?

I hear a knock at my door. I've been expecting one. I have a hunch it'll either be Dil, to drag me to the wedding, or Chuckie or Suzie, to comfort me.

"It's open," I tell them, watching the fire make the scotch in my glass glow prettily.

"Hey," comes an unexpected, but familiar voice.

I chuckle, but don't turn to face her. "You're about the last person I expected," I admit.

Angelica sits down gracefully in one of the other chairs. "Chuckie and Suzie both wanted to come, but they're in the wedding party. They'll be missed before I am." She tosses a chocolate bar at me. "Have you been drinking?"

I shake my head. "Nup. Gave it some serious consideration, though."

"Good," Angelica commends me. "Shows your sane enough to be miserable but in control enough to remain sober. Now eat your chocolate."

I peer over at her quizzically. "Is this what you're like when Chuckie's had a hard day at work?"

She nods. "Pretty much. So, I guess the obvious starting point would be, 'Why did you come all the way from London...and bail?'"

I contemplate the vast array of excuses I could give her. I think about all the ways I could pass this off as being anything other than what it is. I couldn't deal. I felt sick. I decided not to risk breaking down in the middle of the wedding.

"Because I slept with Kimmi last night," I admit regretfully, staring at the fire with remorse.

"I know. She told Suzie."

My jaw drops. "What? If you knew, then why -"

"I wanted to see if you'd admit it or not," she tells me. "You were thinking about lying."

"Was not," I mutter lamely.

"Eat your chocolate," she orders again, so I reluctantly tear open the foil and take a chunk out of the bar of dairy milk. I hate to admit it, but when she's right, she's right. This does actually kind of make me feel better. "Y'know," she offers, "I was kinda hedging my bets that you'd burst in at an opportune moment and yell, 'I object!'"

"Thought about it," I admit, "but decided to play it safe and not make a total fool of myself."

"Probably for the best," Angelica agrees, reaching over and swiping a bit of my chocolate. "So, I hate to be the one to ask, but what happens now?"

I stare into the fire. I've been pondering that very question all day. "Now I go back to London, Tommy and Kimmi get married, and everyone lives happily ever after."

"You don't," she points out.

I shake my head. "I'll be fine. I have friends, I have a life. I'll be fine."

"No, you won't." She sighs loudly in her oh-so-irritating you-don't-get-it-but-I-do manner. "You won't be fine. You don't have her." Her chair creaks as she leans forward. "Do you know what happened between me and Chuckie?"

I nod. "Bits and pieces. Enough to work it out in a broader sense."

She leans back again. "D'you know what finally brought us together? Got us to stop messing with each other's feelings at last?"

"No, what?" I ask, but I'm only really half interested.

"It was because we were what made each other's lives feel right. For all the hurt we went through, on both sides, for all the misery and difficulties of our relationship, we were what each other lived for. We were what kept each other going, even in our self-induced hard times. And that's what Kimmi is to you. Despite the shit the two of you have been through together, she's still your perfect beacon of light and wonder. You wouldn't have slept with her again, otherwise."

"You don't know I already slept with her," I point out.

She gives me a "what kind of idiot do you take me for" look. "I don't need to know. Even Chuckie worked it out. Only Tommy remained in the dark, and I still say he's just in denial."

I shrug. "It wasn't like I planned it. I mean, I dreamt a million times of being with her. And hey, it was the most incredible experience of my life. Both times. But it was never right, and I knew it." I sigh regretfully. "The first time, after I got back from the hospital, it just...happened. In the middle of this raging fight, I kind of tearfully confessed...I don't remember now if I kissed her or if she kissed me. It's all a blur. But it sure as hell didn't matter who initiated it. Because then we were all over each other. And I told her I loved her. I don't think I ever asked her to leave Tommy. I just told her I loved her." I take a deep breath and I'm not surprised when it knocks tears from my eyes. "And then, the next morning, she just left. She told me she couldn't leave Tommy, that she was sorry that she didn't love me, but that she simply didn't. And I must have lain there for hours and hours and hours, just trying to convince myself the whole thing didn't happen. But it did."

"So you ran away."

Years ago, even days ago, I'd have taken offence to that statement. I'd have objected, claiming I wasn't running away, but that my prospects as a musician were better in London. That I always wanted to get out on my own, find my own life, and that as long as they were around, I'd lean on everyone I could. I had to go as far away as possible. But now, with four years behind me, and an array of cold, hard facts to face, denying it would seem childish. Stupid. No matter how I try to justify it.

"I ran away," I agree. "I ran as far from her and Tommy as I could."

"So why did you come back?"

Good question. Did I come here because Tommy asked me? Or did I just use that as an excuse? Did I just want a reason to come back here and try and win Kimmi over?

I don't know.

"I don't know."

Angelica nods. "Do you want me to tell everyone you came down sick or something?"

I shake me head. "No. Just...don't say anything. Don't worry about it, it's not your problem. Don't go lying for me or anything."

She nods and smiles sadly, rising from her seat. She pulls a coat on over her dress and pats me on the head. For once I don't jerk away or glare at her. "I'm sorry, Phil."

I shake my head again. "Don't be. I'll go back to London, I'll white some horrifically sad song, and I'll get over her."

"That hasn't worked yet," she points out.

"It might someday," I offer, but I know that my voice contains no real trace of hope, that it's just some pathetic attempt at self-comfort.

Angelica leans down and pecks me on the cheek. "Good luck, Phil."

"Thanks," I tell her.

She's reaching for the doorknob when temptation overcomes me. "Y'know, Angelica, you're kind of sweet when you want to be."

She smiles at me. "Don't let it get around. I've got Chuckie silent on threat of chastity. You I'd just have to kill." And she smiles again, and leaves.

And once more I'm alone with my thoughts, a fireplace, and an untouched tumbler of scotch.

The first rumbles of thunder rip across the sky. I look up and watch as dry lightening beings forking it's way through the city, producing a dazzling light show as the first of the rain spatters against my windows. I glare at my glass of scotch and slam it down heavily on the table next to my chair. How stupid could I have possibly been? How could I have thought it would be magically different this time? Why didn't I stop it last night when I had the chance?

Because she completes me. She makes my life whole.

I love her, even if she doesn't love me.

The next knock at the door comes as no surprise. Angelica probably hadn't made it as far as the lobby before the storm starting coming down. I wouldn't blame her for not wanting to get caught in it.

"It's open," I yell for the second time that night, but then I notice with a frown that Angelica has locked it on her way out. I rise from my seat and walk slowly, heavily, across the room. The storm outside seems to be weighing me down somehow. Making me drag my feet. Or maybe it's just the baggage of everything I've been left to think about.

I twist the knob counter-clockwise, deactivating the lock, before opening it.  
Her dress is simple. Elegant. Her hair's done up in a bun on top of her head, laced with a pair of chopsticks, and it's gotten slightly damp. Her dress has been mostly protected by a brown jacket she's hugging tight around herself.

"Hi," she offers.

I nod slowly. "Hi," I return.

"There's no excuse for my behavior," she admits, still standing in the corridor. "And...well, I guess 'I'm sorry' is going to sound lame and hopelessly inadequate.

I nod slowly. I realize this might be kind of cold, but a part of me seems not to care.

"I've done a lot of thinking today," she tells me, looking down at her feet. "About a lot of things. And...well...I don't think -"

"Stop," I tell her. And to my vague surprise, she does. She stops speaking, but she still doesn't' look up at my face. "Are you serious about this?" I ask. "Do you seriously mean it?"

She nods slowly.

"Then look me in the eyes and say it," I tell her.

Her head rises slowly, carefully, as if she's unsure of what's happening. But, despite her evident hesitance, her eyes finally lock with mine, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. As if trying to expel her fears.

"When I woke up this morning, and I rolled over and saw you there, it didn't feel wrong. I though that after all these years of waking up next to Tommy, waking up next to another man would feel strange, that I would be startled. But I wasn't. Instead I just wanted to curl up to you and go back to sleep. And that scared me. I wake up on my wedding day next to a man who is definitely not my fiancé and I just want to stay there? It all hit me at once. I got scared. I bolted." She begins to reach out to me, but pulls back at the last moment. "I'm sorry."

I nod. What is there I can say?

"So I sat around today, through getting ready for my wedding, having my hair done and everything, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about how I'd been unfaithful to Tommy, trying not to think about how I may have jeopardized my marriage before I'm even at the aisle - trying not to think about you."

Well, don't I feel special.

"But sitting there, in that dressing room, I couldn't think about anything else. Anything but this morning and how impossibly right if felt to be there next to you. And how this wasn't a new feeling. But it was for you and you alone."  
This time she does reach out to me, and I feel the ghost of her fingertips brush my hand. "I'm sorry for what I did four years ago. I'm not sorry for sleeping with you. I'm sorry for the morning after, I'm sorry for turning away from you. I didn't want to face it then. I was in love with Tommy." She sighs. "I guess I still kind of am, to an extent. But it's not like it is with you. So I could go and walk down that aisle now, and marry a man who loves me and wants to make me happy. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't settle. It's unfair to him." Her eyes rise to meet mine again, and I feel exposed, naked but warm and beautiful under that intense gaze. "Because I love you."

I've pictured this moment a million ways. In the more drug-and-alcohol induced versions, we fly off to some unseen island and all is beautiful and peaceful. In my realistic versions, I'm lost for words. In version on peaceful Sunday afternoons, we kiss like something out of a chick flick.

In actuality I let out a brief, sad, chuckle. I shake my head and she looks at me with a puzzled expression. "I've waited for so long to hear you say that," I tell her. "Ten years, I guess. But now that you've said it, I don't know what to do with it."

She bites her lip. "Oh."

I sigh. "Look, Kimmi, I love you. I have for a long time. So long I can't remember a time when I didn't."

She glances down. "But..."

"But every time...every time it seems like you might feel the same, I end up getting hurt." I reach out and tip her chin back so I can see her face. "You woke up to an impossibly wonderful feeling of love and wonder this morning. But I just woke up to a cold, empty bed." I breath in deeply. "And I couldn't help but remember doing the same thing four years ago. And I kind of have to wonder if you're worth all the pain."

Tears start to drip down her cheeks and I can't help but brush them away with my thumb. "I'm...I'm sorry, Phil. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry...for all the stuff I put you through. I'm sorry it took me so long to work out how I felt." She reaches up and presses her hand into mine where it rests on her cheek. "I can't give you any reasons, other than that I love you. But...I don't want to be without you, Phil. I need you to forgive me. Please."

_I can change. I want to change._

You're my salvation.

Some part of me wants to remember all the hurt and turn her way. Tell her thanks, but no. Tell her that it's all been too much.

But the part of me that will love her forever pulls her into the hotel room and pressed my lips to hers.

We've got a lot of things to talk about. To sort out. A lot of issues in the past, on both sides. We're going to have to face Tommy - face everyone, I guess - sooner or later. But that can all wait until morning. Because, for the first time, I know she'll be here. I don't know why I think this will be different from last night. From four years ago. But I know she'll be there.


	15. Lightning Tears Up A Blazing Sky

**The Wedding Chronicles - Epilogue**  
Acepilot

AN - Alright. This is sort of the end. There is a sequel coming for those of you asking yourself, "So what about Tommy?". It's not as gloomy as this one, I promise. As I write this, it's not written yet, but hopefully it's not too far off. Pretty much this is just some fluff that kind of ends the story. I hope you enjoyed "In The End", and thanks to everyone who stuck it out.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo.

---

I'll bet you never knew how beautiful it is to watch lightning bolts tear up a blazing sky.

The lights of the city have turned the clouds hanging overhead a fiery orange, and it truly seems that the sky is on fire. The storm only enhances it - sheets of water pelting down from nothing that looked qualified to be carrying that much liquid in it. The thunder is roaring and dark, so powerful it rattles windows.

And then there's the lightning.

I'm standing at the glass door that leads out on to the balcony and wondering at the right-angled turn that my life had suddenly taken.

Three days ago it was all so much simpler. Three days ago I was living in London, a recovering alcoholic playing music and trying to lead a new life - and leave his old one behind. But, of course, idiot that I am, I had to come back. Back to my old life. Back to the girl I loved. Back to everything I tried so hard to put behind me.

What kind of guy steals his best friend's fiancé? br  
I feel a hand slip softly into mine and a head fall to rest on my shoulder. I absentmindedly wrap an arm around the small of her back and stroke the palm of her other hand softly.

"What are you thinking about?"

Isn't that a loaded question?

What the hell was I thinking? Have I gone certifiably insane? Maybe now that I'm back in the country I need to start seeing my therapist again. I come all the way to the States from London and I steal away my best friend's girl when she's hours away from becoming his wife? I mean, I know she came to me, but...I shouldn't have come back.

"I shouldn't have come back," I tell her. "It was a mistake."

She shakes her head. "It wasn't, Phil. If I'd married Tommy - "

"If I hadn't come back, then you'd have lived happily ever after with Tommy," I tell her. "It was my fault."

She reaches up and hits me across the back of the head, and I mutter "Ow," while reaching up to rub the surely reddening spot on my scalp. "Right, you stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault, first off." She stands on tip-toes and kisses me on the cheek, as if making amends for slapping me. "Second..." she sighs. "You may think you stole me, but...I wanted to be stolen. Because it wouldn't have been right between me and Tommy. It never would have lasted, because he and I don't have what you and I have. And I always knew it," she tells me. "I always knew it."

I look down at her sadly in the dark of the night. She returns my gaze before tucking her head into my neck and watching the storm.

"I'm sorry I ran away," I tell her.

"I don't blame you. I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

I shake my head and, despite everything, manage to choke out a laugh. "We're the sorriest young lovers that I've ever heard of."

I can feel rather than see her grin. "I love you."

And my heart soars.

"You know, you're dealing with this all better than I thought you would," she tells me.

"How do you mean?"

"I can't believe you forgave me," she whispers against my shoulder.

I shake my head. "How could I not?" I tip her chin up so I can look into her eyes. "I've got to admit, I didn't want to. I wanted to tell you to go and marry him, or go and do whatever, but that I couldn't take you back. Not again.

"And what do you want now?" she asks, unflinchingly.

"To love you," I tell her. It's the only explanation that I can find.

But she doesn't seem to mind.

"So where do we go now?" she asks.

I sigh. "I don't know. I've got to go back to London, and settle things there."

She nods. "I more meant, where do we go now as us?"

I grin. "Ah. That."

"Yeah, that."

I shrug. "We tell everyone, I guess."

She smiles again. "So, d'you think they're wondering where we are?"

"Probably already worked it out."

"Think they'll find us?"

"Suzie and Angelica probably know better than to let them look."

"My parents are going to be furious. Tommy's going to kill you."

"We're adults."

"I ran out on my own wedding!"

"We'll say I hit you with a club and dragged you to my cave."

She chuckles, and I smile.

"There's that laugh. I missed it, you know."

"You missed my laugh?" she asks, amused.

"I missed your laugh, your smile, your hair...I missed you."

A tear slips down her cheek and I lean down and kiss it away.

"You won't have to anymore," she tells me, and I feel tears starting to come on myself.

And it's all too easy to say that this is perfect. That this is how it was meant to be, how it was always meant to be. But... "Kimmi?"

"Yeah?" she replies, quietly. Barely more than a whisper.

"Are we going to work out?" I ask her, stroking her further tears away with the pad of my thumb.

"I don't know," she tells me. "But...if you're asking what I think you're asking..." and she reaches up, hooking her arms around my neck and kissing me. I breathe her in, practically feeling like I could just inhale her and make her a part of me forever. "I'm never going to regret taking a chance to find out."

And I tighten my arms around her, and I know that this is how it was meant to be. How it was always meant to be, how it was always meant to go.

For all that's happened, for all that went wrong, this is the happiest moment of my life, standing here with her, watching lightning bolts tear up a blazing sky.

---

End Note:  
It's done. At long last. Thank you sincerely to all who reviewed, especially RupertGrint'sGirl, for giving me my first review, LilWolfgirl, Peachy15, Tattered Remnaints and A Hopeless Romantic for sticking it out from beginning to end, and the unstoppable DigitalDamita for her kind reviews and sudden heroic appearance midway through.

Massive thanks also go out to BrokenandDiscarded - the author of the incredible fanfiction "Splintered Reflections", to whom I owe a great, great deal.

Last, but definitely not least - one last hurrah for Jonathan, for working through the concept of this fic with me from square one - he is the only person who ever read my aborted first chapter of the original "Love Your Way", a Z/K/P triangle with Phil in a sandbox (I'm determined to use that scene in a fic). This fic wouldn't have been created without the advice he offered and the support he gave, especially when I was going through a hard time as a writer in February. You rule, man.

And one last time - I'd be massively appreciative if you'd all review.


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